#if anyone had to replace him with my prediction I’m glad it was scar

[tokenducks]

Guys please look at this draft I made during secret life:

Guys I’m getting my cringe fail, avoiding-death-while-dying-a-lot, and murder duo dreams

[epicene-humanoid]

some trans Jeff thoughts:

he realized he was trans in elementary school and just went fuck it I'll just start introducing myself as Jeffery and see if anyone decides to stop me (as we know, jeff winger can get away with almost anything)

he got top surgery the second he could afford it (around the same time he started at his law firm), and probably bribed someone to keep it a secret

"I'm jeff winger and i would rather look at myself naked than the women I sleep with" are the words of a man proud of his transition

he's really insecure about his fashion sense, which is why he mostly dresses like the douchey guys at his firm in the start of the show, he thought you can't go wrong with the sleazy lawyer look

he will never admit it but he feels super good about the dean hitting on him, because the dean is a (cis) guy, acknowledging that Jeff is more manly than him

i think he starts out stealth and comes out to everyone one by one, probably starting with abed because he knows abed won't judge him and will probably just see it as an interesting backstory.

abed just says it's cool and maybe worth a prequel exploring Jeff's transition, and jeff asks him to predict how all of the members of the group will react to him coming out.

abed's predictions:

britta will be over-the-top supportive and do a ton of research about trans history, probably put together a slideshow just to prove how progressive she is, and jeff will be a little bit weirded out, but also touched that she did all that for him, though he would never let her know that

shirley will be confused, because she doesn't know how someone she trusts and knows so well could be part of a group she was raised to hate, but ultimately realizes that there's nothing actually against the lgbtq people in the bible, and, as a cool character development arch, starts to advocate against use of the bible to justify bigotry

troy will just think it over and decide that Jeff's physique and coolness are even awesomer knowing how much work he'd had to put in to be like that, and respects Jeff's manliness even more

annie will give him a hug, say something sweet about how she'll always love him, and worry about his health, because even she read somewhere that taking testosterone makes you more likely to have a heart attack, jeff will explain that the risk is still only as high a cis guy, and she'll be the one to always remind him to take his shots

peirce will say at best say "jeff winger used to be a chick?" and at worst call him a slur, either way there's sure to be a lot of misgendering from him, and pestering to know Jeff's deadname (needless to say, Jeff just doesn't tell peirce)

the whole group goes out of their way to keep their beach trips a secret from pierce (the girls don't want him there anyways, he's too liable to be creepy) even though jeff knows that even if pierce saw his scars, all he would have to do is make up a story about some childhood accident and pierce would never question it

sorry this ended up being super long. can I hear some of your headcanons for him?

YES ALL THIS!!! yes yes i’m fully accepting this as canon oh my god

i’m about to type a whole ass ESSAY at midnight because i have been DYING to talk about this for months ajfdksljk,,, this is going to be obscenely long and i might end up adding even more to it as i continue to rewatch the show because there is truly no shortage of trans jeff content (especially when you’re trans and see transness in every little thing ajdkslfkjs)

spoiler warning for literally everything about this show under the cut <3

i 100% agree, i feel like he realized he was trans super young, especially since in the show we see him as a little kid a couple of times. 

like look at little jeff with the oversized sweatshirt and little ponytail!! that’s childhood trans fashion. not to be dramatic but part of me thinks that jeff’s dad left before he fully came out to his family (which gives him even more angst about it, because until that one Thanksgiving episode, he’s never able to prove to his dad that he’s a better man), but part of me thinks that his dad left after he came out (which adds that spicy i-should-have-stayed-in-the-closet guilt that he has to work through). 

either way, because his dad wasn’t there, he had to base his concept of masculinity on something else, which was becoming a lawyer!! there’s some line that’s like “after the dust and divorce papers were settled the only man i looked up to was [the lawyer guy]”. like, replacing your father figure in your mind with the concept of “a job where you can talk your way in and out of anything and distort other people’s concept of reality”? that’s trans.

 and the fucking THANKSGIVING EPISODE... i struggle to watch it without crying hehe <3 yeowch! the dichotomy of willy jr. being the “wrong” kind of man because he’s “too soft” but jeff also not being enough despite adhering to all the social standards of masculinity... fuck!! this whole scene of him telling his dad “i am Not well adjusted” and talking about how he gave himself an “appendix surgery scar” when he was a kid and he still keeps the get-well-soon letters from his classmates under his bed? oh my god. the implication of people loving him not despite his scars but because of them?? trans. i can’t think about this episode for too long or i’ll start yelling.

OH and this scene? where he talks about how his mom got him a girl costume for halloween?? and everyone said “what a cute little girl” and after a few houses he stopped correcting them?? and “once the shame and the fear wore off, i was just glad they thought i was pretty”?? THAT’S TRANS... the man needs validation oh my god... and then in all the halloween episodes we see he has these ultra-masculine costumes (a cowboy, David Beckham, one of the fast and furious guys even though he never watched the movies, a boxer with his DAD’S boxing gloves... god) costumes are about becoming something else and he always chooses to be hypermasculine and that is trans.

THE PHYSICAL EDUCATION EPISODE!!!!!!! being uncomfortable during P.E. is a queer experience. period. but him being specifically uncomfortable in the clothes someone else is assigning to him? trans. “are we gonna talk about clothes like a girl? or use tapered sticks to hit balls around a cushioned mat like a man?” TRANS. and him eventually stripping in public? celebration of transness. and the fact that he eventually becomes comfortable in both the uniform and his own style!! trans!! god i love this episode. 

AND AND AND!!! the gay dean coming out episode!!! where it’s the three of them discussing the best way for the dean to come out as gay despite not entirely identifying with that label!! so we have both frankie and the dean who are sort of ambiguously queer, and jeff who’s a stealth trans man who’s probably only out to only the study group at this point. this scene where the dean and jeff have this like eyebrow communication while frankie is talking is just so cute. queer-to-queer communication. “I am so curious” “oh?” “intellectually.” “oh...” ajfdksljfk this scene just screams high school GSA to me and i love it so much.

and SPEAKING of the dean!! i totally see you on that. i feel like jeff has some internalized homophobia/biphobia (like he’d throw punches over someone else, but when it comes to himself he has a lot of shame). and also seeing the dean so confident in all his different outfits/costumes has a weird affect on him bc it’s like “okay, the dean, a cis guy, can do that, but i as a trans guy could Not because that’s Breaking the Rules”. which, like, throwback to the halloween thing. of course there’s no right way to be masculine, but mr. winger does not know that.

another thing!! the episode where their emails get leaked? that includes his emails with his therapist. fuck!! he was outed to the whole world in that episode!! no wonder he was so fucking angry!! this whole episode (and really any time he mentions his therapist) is so interesting when you think about them as a person he talks to about his transition. OH which adds to the thing with the dean!! “and you told your therapist you wanted to be alone this weekend” and “not you jeff, i know you’ll be visiting your dad” ”I told you to stop reading my emails”. luckily his study group has his back and just makes fun of him for emailing astronauts lmao

and WHO can forget “they’re giving out an award for most handsome young man!!!!” what else is there to say about this line besides: he’s trans. you know he didn’t get awarded enough for being a handsome young man when he was a kid, and no amount of compliments when he’s fully-grown can really make up for that. some people crash a kid’s bar mitzvah to cope with the fact that they struggled to be seen as themselves when they were a teenager <3

also his weird relationship with pierce? where he kind of hates him (understandably lmao) but at times has this almost-friends-almost-father-son relationship with him? especially in this episode where he’s forced to bond with him and ends up having a good time by accident (at a barber shop no less, the perfect place to Be A Man with your Man Friend). idk what to say about him besides the fact that pierce says his mom wanted a girl when he was born and made him dress like a girl (and his middle name is anastasia!) so if they’re gonna do any bonding over transness it’s gonna be that. 

okay one last thing and then i’ll shut up for the night. this episode kills me (and almost kills jeff hahahahelpi’mcrying). it’s a very Trans thing to not be able to visualize your future self, it just is. growing up trans at the time he did? i don’t know what kind of future he saw for himself, but i’m so happy that he ended up with a group of friends who became his family and love him the way they all do. i’m so emotional over this asshole it’s ridiculous. 

in conclusion:

they’re trans, your honor <3

[wordsablaze]

4~ i’ll stand there so brave

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: so this took me a while to update but you can blame the sun for being too warm for me to function... yay summer (!)

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @booboomuffin

previous chapter

-

They reach the next town a few hours before nightfall.

Jaskier perks up as soon as they see an inn, all but jumping to the ground and almost toppling over entirely in his haste. He manages to carefully take down his lute before Eskel has even brought Scorpion to a stop.

“I’ll get us a room!” he declares before promptly freezing on the spot, looking up at Eskel as if waiting for permission.

Eskel sighs inwardly but smiles as softly as he can make himself. “Sounds good.”

It’s obvious Jaskier was wondering if Eskel would even want to share a room with him and somehow, that thought stings more than most injuries he’s faced on the path. Because of course he does, there’s no reason for him not to.

He’s glad it’s almost dark because it means the stableboy doesn’t have a chance to be scared off by his scars, simply promising to ensure Scorpion is taken care of properly.

“Go find a corner, darling,” Jaskier whispers to him as soon as he enters the inn, gently pushing him towards one of the walls.

Before he can even think to ask if there’s a room available, Jaskier has started performing, his voice carrying perfectly across the rather large room and causing most people to at least turn to look at him, if not start smiling or singing along.

Eskel doesn’t recognise the song but it seems plenty of people do because there are soon enough drinks going round for one of the barmaids to place on in front of him with a smile. “Free of charge, as promised.”

“Promised?” Eskel echoes, frowning.

She frowns back for a split second before nodding her head at Jaskier, who’s currently moving around the room to take requests. “You’re with him, right?”

Eskel nods.

“Well then, as we promised him: food and drink with no charge if he can liven the place up.”

She disappears to serve someone else before Eskel can thank her so he just accepts the ale and sits back, tracking Jaskier as he switches songs after stopping by two young women who look like they’re on the verge of tears.

They’re laughing by the time the song - something about a princess slaying the beast instead of being rescued from it - has finished, as much to Jaskier’s credit as it is to Eskel’s amazement.

“Play the one about coins!” someone shouts.

“Yeah, let’s hear about the devil!”

“Go on, bard!”

Eskel bristles as Jaskier pauses, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin that had barely healed from before; apparently, it’s some kind of nervous habit of his.

For a moment, Eskel thinks Jaskier will refuse. But then Jaskier exhales slowly and grins. “Why, of course! A great choice to end the evening!”

His ale - both the first and second mugs - long since finished, Eskel focuses entirely on Jaskier.

“When a humble bard…”

Focuses on the way he’s the perfect picture of professional.

Focuses on how his fingers play the right tune but his heart so clearly isn’t in it, not that anyone seems to pick up on that as they laugh or sing along, a few of them even tossing coins Jaskier’s way as he passes them.

Focuses on how there's something so brave in Jaskier singing about someone who'd hurt him so deeply. And not only that, but he's doing it to support witchers despite everything - it seems only logical to be impressed.

“A friend of humanity… ” Jaskier finishes, bowing ceremoniously as he grabs his lute case from he’d propped it up to keep it safe.

Moments later, he rather unceremoniously collapses into the seat opposite Eskel.

“You okay there, bardling?” Eskel asks softly, once he’s sure there are no prying eyes left.

Jaskier nods, but the way he lets his head fall onto the table between them says otherwise.

He stays in that position until two plates of food are placed on their table, at which point he sits up straight and positively beams at the woman who’d brought them. “Our most sincere gratitude for keeping your promise.”

She laughs, glancing between the two of them. “The gratitude is mutual.”

Eskel smiles at her. “Thank you.”

“Is that basil?” Jaskier asks incredulously, surprising both Eskel and the woman, who nods slowly, as if expecting a complaint.

But Jaskier only grins cheekily. “I shall have to write a ballad in my gratitude to your hospitality and whoever is in charge of your skilled kitchens.”

The woman blushes before grabbing Eskel’s empty mug, muttering something about it being their pleasure before leaving them to their food. And as soon as she’s gone, Jaskier lets his head fall back onto the table.

“Jaskier?” Eskel asks, briefly worrying if there’s a hidden injury he should know about.

Jaskier groans softly but sits back up again with a small and oddly insincere smirk. “I believe that’s what most people call me, yes.”

This time, Eskel can tell exactly how much Jaskier is affected by having to relive Posada, even if he doesn’t always show it. But he doesn’t want to address it, knowing that it might mean Jaskier shuts himself off again. Or worse, decides not to travel with him after all.

Instead, he gestures to their plates. “Aren’t you going to try the basil?”

Jaskier blinks slowly before laughing, the shadows in his expression halfway replaced with amusement. “Only if we both do, darling,” he agrees.

And so they do.

It seems neither of them are used to taking their time, though, because the inn is still relatively buzzing by the time they’ve both finished their very satisfying meals.

“There’s someone with a siren problem that wants to meet you tomorrow,” Jaskier tells him as they make their way upstairs.

“What?” Eskel tilts his head to the right, confused.

Jaskier is immediately surrounded by waves of panic. “Oh, gods, I didn’t mean to assume you’d want to take the contract or anything. I was just- I mean, she’s the one that came to me and I thought you- But we can just, uh, decline if you already had plans or-”

“It’s okay, Jaskier, I’m not mad,” Eskel interrupts, placing a hand on Jaskier’s arm.

He doesn’t know what he’d expected but he hadn’t predicted that Jaskier would melt the same way his panic does, letting out a soft sigh as he leans into the touch.

“Which room is ours?” Eskel asks, not really wanting to continue this conversation, or any other one for that matter, where they could be overhead.

Jaskier instantly snaps out of his guilty daze and leads them to the room he’d gotten them, a smaller one with only a bed and a window. But it’s still better than nothing at such late notice and Eskel is grateful for it.

“Did she tell you it was a siren?” Eskel asks eventually, not liking the uneasy silence between them.

Jaskier looks almost startled to be addressed but then shakes his head. “Not exactly, but there aren’t exactly a lot of creatures that specialise in luring handsome men away with songs in the middle of the night, are there?”

Taking a risk, Eskel smirks. “You would know better than I, bardling.”

“What? I wouldn’t know more than you witchers even if- hey!” Jaskier’s confusion transforms into an affronted pout as he folds his arms. “I do not lure anyone anywhere. It’s hardly my fault if they offer me their company, is it?”

Eskel is just glad Jaskier hadn’t taken offence. He’s also pretty surprised that his idea of a joke had matched someone else’s idea of a joke but he’s aware it might just be Jaskier and his rather unique personality.

“If you say so,” Eskel settles for.

Jaskier grumbles and throws his doublet at Eskel, who barely manages to catch it despite his enhanced reflexes.

But as soon as he does, Jaskier’s eyes widen and he steps closer to Eskel. “Wait no, don’t crumple it!”

“You’re the one who threw it,” Eskel points out, bemused.

Jaskier pouts again, and Eskel swears that no other man would be capable of looking so childish in such a surprisingly dignified way.

But he throws it back anyway. Or rather, hands it back, since Jaskier is close enough to do so. He’s also close enough for Eskel to feel the surprised relief that radiates from him as he carefully folds the doublet and places it atop his lute case.

It hadn’t struck Eskel until now that Jaskier doesn’t have any other belongings with him. But now he feels self-conscious at having two bags worth of possessions where Jaskier only has a lute, even though he knows that he needs the potions and the spare clothes and the extra room for rations.

And Jaskier must have pulled the shirt he’d given to Eskel from somewhere , right? Eskel figures he’d stashed his belongings somewhere before they’d set off and resolves to ask him about them later.

“Are you going to keep your armour on all night?” Jaskier asks after a minute or so of Eskel being rooted in the same spot.

Truth be told, he was just wondering whether they’d share the bed again.

“You know, I’ve heard that sleeping is far more comfortable when you’re not covered in spikes,” Jaskier continues, smirking again.

Eskel makes a face at that but Jaskier only takes it as an invitation, helping him out of his armour before pulling him to the bed and flopping down onto it, raising an eyebrow up at him. “Care to join me?”

“No,” Eskel replies just for the sake of it, “move over.”

Jaskier laughs before doing exactly that, folding his arms under his head as he shifts his gaze to the ceiling and Eskel settles besides him.

“You don’t mind, do you? That I arranged a potential contract on your behalf?” Jaskier asks softly, still staring at the ceiling.

Eskel shakes his head, wondering how Jaskier doesn’t know that it makes life so much easier to have a middle man in the equation. But then he remembers that Geralt is probably responsible for Jaskier not knowing how valuable his social skills are.

Honestly, he’s never wanted to hit someone so badly.

“Of course not,” Eskel replies, wishing he could explain better but still not quite used to the whole talking-for-so-long thing.

Jaskier smiles regardless and turns so he’s facing Eskel, already curling closer to him. “And you won’t leave before I wake up?”

Eskel suspects Jaskier is either a little more tired or a little more drunk than he’d intended to be so he just humours him and shakes his head. “No, I won’t. I’ll be here,” he promises.

Almost like a child, Jaskier nods, shuffling even closer. “Thank you, Eskel.”

The warmth that spreads through Eskel is most likely due to Jaskier’s presence rather than his words because why would someone using his name be powerful enough to change his body temperature?

Jaskier is filled with so much trust, Eskel notes, that he falls asleep within a few minutes. And it amazes him as much as it saddens him for he can’t imagine why Geralt would give up someone so awfully kind at heart.

But he doesn’t want to think of his brother’s idiocy unless he absolutely has to, which he currently doesn’t, so he just wraps an arm around Jaskier and closes his eyes.

It’s definitely strange to have someone choose to be as close to him as possible, especially when they’re both at their most vulnerable, but he can’t deny the smile on his face that only the darkness will ever see.

He also can’t deny one of the best nights of sleep he’s ever had.

-

i lowkey feel they get more ooc every time i write them, oops. sorry about that...

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[bernadineisreborn]

Reality VI

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Author’s note: Omg so I’m working things for this out and I think its gonna be like…. LONG. The different parts are definitely going to be longer. In the beginning (like September? July??? idk) they were around 1000, but I see them being closer to 2000/3000 each now. Again, I hope you all enjoy and please please please let me know what you think. To those that have been reblogging or commenting on things related to this series, I see you and I love you.   –Bernadine

Warnings: swearing, characters not acting like themselves???? (idk I did my best), mention of scars on hands/wrists (though not related to self-harm)

Word count: 2525 :)

Series Masterlist

Marcus Redware woke with a start. He had only been sleeping for a few hours. Sleep had been coming to him in small fits lately, always inconsistent, always less than he needed.

This, he thought, is the effect of prolonged stress on the body.

Marcus was highly logical, so it helped him to think about his problems in logical terms. If he could somehow manage to be less stressed, he would be able to sleep.

He got out of bed, not taking the time to tuck the royal blue covers of his bed under the mattress edges as he normally would. He dressed quietly, not wanting to wake the other four Ravenclaws in the room. Four Ravenclaws that, he realized with a twinge of jealousy, were leading completely normal teenage lives and sleeping soundly.

It was November, and out from under the puffy Hogwarts comforter, Marcus was chilly. He changed quickly into blue and bronze robes, and hurried down the stairs.

It was barely 4 am, so the magical hallways of Hogwarts were deserted. Only people with something to hide were awake and about at this hour.

Pansy Parkinson was waiting at the double doors that led out of the Entrance Hall. She was tapping her foot impatiently, but her eyes were darting around in apparent nerves. Marcus approached her, and she rolled her eyes, “Finally. For Merlin’s sake, Redware.”

Marcus sneered, “Sorry, Parkinson, I had actually managed to get an hour of sleep and wasn’t particularly looking forward to getting up to meet you, knowing you’d be in such a cheerful state.”

Pansy shot him a rather sarcastic expression of sympathy.

The pair walked out into the crisp fall air in silence, a silence that was surprisingly comfortable for two people that seemed to have nothing in common.

“I’m worried about Y/N finding out, Pansy,” mumbled Marcus, he squeezed his eyes shut tight, “She’s my best friend, I can’t hide this from her. I’m jumpy around her, and she’s incredibly observant.”

Pansy pursed her lips, “Well, Marcus, you haven’t got much of a choice, do you? Anyway, I thought she wasn’t speaking to you,” her dark eyes flickered back and forth between Marcus’, and she softened, “Look, I don’t love this either. We haven’t really decided it for ourselves, no, but it’s not as bad as it could be. We could hate each other and not get on at all,” she raised her manicured hand to rest on Marcus’ shoulder, “Let’s make the best of it, yeah?”

Marcus sighed, raised his hand to sit on top of Pansy’s, and flashed her a small smile, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Pansy smiled in return. Their hands rested comfortably on each other’s for a minute, displaying twin sets of thin, faded, crisscrossing scars winding around their knuckles and wrists.

If anyone had seen the interaction, they might have thought they were witnessing Polyjuice Potion in acting, the pair were acting so out of character.

Pansy and Marcus weren’t the only people with something to hide, of course. Draco Malfoy was on the seventh floor, emerging from a disappearing door across from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. His platinum hair was tousled in a way that bordered on sloppy and his grey eyes were so heavy that they were half shut. He looked disheveled in a way that he would usually care to fix, if his priorities weren’t focused so strictly elsewhere.

While he had been spending a lot of time out past curfew this year, the amount had increased when he’d gotten himself detention. You and Draco had spent the last three nights in the small closet similarly to the first night: working in silence, you trying to make occasional conversation, hating the tediousness of your assigned task.

Draco could tell you were still curious about the box, he’d caught you eyeing him suspiciously from across the room during more than one Potions class, though you hadn’t asked him about it anymore, for which Draco was grateful. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought your hesitant glances and awkward attempts at conversation meant you fancied him.

As far as Draco was concerned, you already knew far too much about him. He had somehow managed to allow you to catch him crying, a situation that had been embarrassing to Draco for more reasons than one. Though you were mostly a nuisance, he had not liked that an intelligent, rather good-looking girl had seen him in such a state.

Draco entered the elegant Slytherin common room and slunk up the stairs to the dorm he shared with Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Nott, trying desperately not to wake them as he slid under the silk sheets of his four-poster bed.

He didn’t have the time or luxury to change into pajamas.

---

At breakfast that morning, you sat across from Sue and Mandy, updating them on the events of last night’s detention, during which Draco had pointedly ignored your every attempt to speak to him, “Neither of us want to be there. But Merlin, I think he hates me,” you said, the thought crinkling your brow.

You weren’t sure how you felt about Draco. You had seen him crying, out of bed past curfew. He had been rude to you. He had threatened you. A normal person might have been scared off, but you were left rather intrigued.

Sue smiled sympathetically, “I’m sure that’s not the case, Y/N. He probably just loathes being in detention, and your being there, trying to get him to tell you all his secrets, isn’t making it any better.”

You laughed, “Yeah, I hope you’re right. Thanks, Sue.”

“I’ll lend my opinion anytime, Y/N!” Sue said, and you felt a rush of gratitude for the distraction they’d so willingly providing you since things had shifted between you and Marcus.

After breakfast, you make your way to Potions, not bothering to wait for Marcus, who hadn’t shown to classes at all since your argument. Every day you waited in anxiety for him to show, and every day your worry grew when he didn’t.

So, you were more than surprised when he walked into Slughorn’s classroom and sat next to you as if things were completely normal.

There was an awkward silence between you, as you did your best to ignore his presence and he settled in for class. You were more relieved that you would admit to see him attending classes again.

When he spoke, there was a tentative smile on his face, “I figured I couldn’t skip class anymore without everyone getting suspicious.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, making a point to scoot your chair away from his. The relief you had felt before was quickly being replaced with annoyance.

He sighed, “Y/N, come on. I didn’t mean to lash out at you. Really, I don’t deserve your friendship, and I am just going through something right now and–”

You cut him off with a sharp glare, “You’re right. You don’t deserve it. I’m glad you’ve found Parkinson, she’s clearly more suited to you than I am.”

Marcus’ expression pinched in hurt, “Are you ever going to forgive me?”

You considered him, “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on with you?”

He looked away, “No. I can’t, Y/N.”

“Well, if you can’t trust me, a friend you’ve known since birth, might I add, over Pansy, Merlin knows what kind of relationship you’ve formed with her, I’m not sure I want to know anyway,” you turned to face the front of the classroom, where Slughorn was standing, trying to get the class’s attention, and held your chin up.

---

When classes were done for the day, you having spent a few of them avoiding Marcus’ attempt at reconciliation, you made your way to the North Tower to speak to Professor Trelawney.

You hadn’t taken Divination this year, your rigorous schedule having no room for it, but you had enjoyed it quite a bit during 5th year. Professors generally liked you, and Trelawney was not an exception.

When you clambered through the trap door, you were immediately met with heavily perfumed air, scented like incense and burning herbs.

Trelawney was inside, sitting on a plush-looking floor pillow, and drinking from a bottle holding a brown liquid.

“Hello, Professor Trelawney,” you called.

She looked up immediately, she didn’t seem to be doing anything important, but you felt a little guilty for interrupting her free time.

Her eyes widened at the sight of you, “Y/N, child, it’s been too long,” she rushed to your side, draping a blanket over you, though you weren’t the least bit cold, and ushered you to sit on another burgundy floor pillow, “You have come to me because you are in dire need of help,” she stated, as if this was something she had predicted.

“Well, yes, I have,” you shifted in your seat, “I’ve been having some rather…strange dreams.”

She nodded, “Go on, dear.”

“It’s just one recurring dream, really. There’s a rabbit, and I think it’s meant to be me because it always has my eyes. There’s also a snake and a hawk, and they dive for the rabbit, as if…well, I’m not sure what. I never get to see what happens. I always wake up before I can.”

Her eyes widened further, and you briefly wondered how long she had been sitting there drinking before you came in, “Oneiromancy is a complicated field of study. The things I taught you last year for the O.W.L.s just barely scratched at the surface, my dear,” she poured two cups of tea with a shaking hand, “It is smart to conclude that the rabbit is you. Dreams often come to us when we are in grave danger, when the universe wants to send us a sign. The snake, as I’m sure you’ve realized, is a symbol commonly associated with Salazar Slytherin,” she peered at you over her thick glasses, “Do you know any Slytherins on a personal level?”

You briefly thought of Malfoy, taking a sip from your tea, “Not really.”

“Hmm…” she eyed you suspiciously, “Well then, it is likely that the snake is meant to symbolize renewal, rebirth, or healing. As far as the hawk goes, the symbols vary. Some agree it is a warning to trust your intuition, others say it symbolizes impeding war,” she began to mumble, “Quite an accurate prediction, that would be.”

The room was silent for a few minutes as Trelawney sat beside you, either deep in thought or completely zoned out.

You cleared your throat, “So, what do you think, then? What does it mean?”

Trelawney jolted, “Oh, yes. I could guess at what the dreams are trying to tell you, but the only ones who can really know our dreams, child, is our own selves. It is impossible for me to know, as I do not have your subconscious.” She stood up suddenly, and disappeared behind the door that led to her office.

A minute or so later, she returned, looking somehow more frazzled than before, and handed you a book that read, The Dream Oracle’s Sequel: More Dreams, More Divination, by Inigo Imago. You took it gratefully from her hand.

“This is one of the books I recommend my N.E.W.T. level students read to prepare for their exam. I think you might benefit from reading it,” With this, she helped you off the floor and began pushing you to the trap door, “Please, my dear, be careful out there, you never know what people intend at times like these.”

Just as you were about to step through the trap door, she halted, “You don’t have any relation to Bethan L/N, do you?”

“Not that I know of, Professor.”

She nodded, accepting this information, “Talent for the Art of Divination, as you know, often runs in families. Bethan was a rather accomplished student I had during my first year of teaching.  Talented girl. A shame, I think, what happened to her,” Trelawney once again stared at you in a blank sort of way, as if she was somehow seeing the wall behind you through your head, “I’ll see you soon, darling. Careful on the stairs!”

You were soon on the stairs back to your common room, feeling immense regret at your decision to visit Trelawney, and rather tired from the dreamy perfumes in the attic-like classroom.

By time you reached the Ravenclaw Common Room, you were in desperate need of a nap. Thankfully, Sue and Mandy were absent along with your other dormmates; the room was peacefully silent.

They’re probably at dinner, you think with a tinge of jealousy as you lay down, most people are dealing with normal things, like homework…

…Rabbit. Snake. Hawk. NO!

There was pressure on your shoulder, and it was shaking gently, “Y/N? Y/N!”

You blinked awake, a bit confused. Sue and Mandy were standing by your bed, wearing concerned expressions.

Mandy pressed against your shoulder again, “Y/N, it’s past dinner. Shouldn’t you be in detention?”

Fuck.

Yes, you should have been in detention. You were about an hour late by time you actually arrived. Slughorn, luckily, was not waiting around to make sure you attended.

Draco, however, had started organizing his half of the closet, presumably a while ago.

He looked up when you rushed in, and you made brief eye contact with him before diverting your eyes and starting to work on your shelf.

You had been standing there in silence for a few minutes, and you realized that you were pushing the glass vials around without any thought to what you were doing.

One of the glass vials was big enough that you could see your reflection, which looked every bit as if you had just woken up from a month-long coma. The reflection blurred as your eyes swelled and stung with building pressure.

The argument with Marcus was obviously affecting you more than you had realized.

“Trouble in paradise?” questioned Draco.

You turned to face him, a little amazed that he was initiating conversation, a little weary of being teased, “What do you mean?”

He noted your forming tears, but his expression remained impressively neutral, “You and Redware.”

“It’s not­– Marcus and I aren’t dating,” you said, crossing your arms.

He rolled his eyes, “Fine. But there’s trouble, is there not?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Why do you care?”

“I don’t. You’re organizing your vials poorly, and I can’t afford to spend more time in detention because you’re being sloppy.”

That stung.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you turned back around, wanting to hide the tears that you were sure would start pouring soon.

After a minute, you heard Draco sigh, “Pansy’s told me that Redware mentioned something about it.”

“Brilliant. Literally everyone knows more about Marcus than I do.”

Slughorn appeared then, apparently unaware of the tension in the small room, “Alright, Miss L/N, Mr. Malfoy, you can return to your common rooms now. Thank you.”

Due to the unintentional length of your nap, you hadn’t been there very long, but you did not hesitate to dismiss yourself and rush from the room.

---

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[kimjongdaely]

The Art of Sin [Chapter 5] [M]

Gang!AU, Racer!AU, Tattoo Artist!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, vandalism

Summary: He’s an artist. He does it all for the ‘art.’ Tattooing. Racing. Sex. All because he thinks they’re beautiful. There’s no one here that doesn’t know his name, because it’s everywhere. On every graffiti-filled wall, every tattooed skin, every cheer of the crowd. His name is there somewhere, because it’s all his—this world. And when he lays his eyes on you—well, he’s never seen anything more beautiful. And he’s going to make you his masterpiece.

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3 [M]│Chapter 4 [M]│Chapter 5 [M]│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8 [M]

It’s two weeks later when Chen asks.

“Wanna date?”

For two weeks, you had been visiting EXO’s garage almost every day after you got off work. They welcomed you easily, a few shrugs and glances, because apparently it’s been a while since Chen had been with a girl.

You weren’t sure how you should act around Chen at first. You had sex, went on a date...learned what he really does. You should be terrified, but somehow, you’re not.

Chen never pushed you into anything. He was always casual, easy-going, laidback. He let you come, let you go, let you make your own decisions. You wonder if he knew that very first night that you wouldn’t be able to leave.

Like a butterfly caught in a spiderweb.

His question surprised you, but wasn’t exactly unexpected. The way you acted around each other felt couple-y already. He’s comfortable to be around, with that chill attitude, like nothing in the world really matters.

Your answer was, of course, “Sure.” You tried to act cool about it, calm and casual like the way he asked. It’s a lot harder than it seems, because your heart nearly jumped out of your throat, your hands clammy.

So that’s it. You’re dating him now. 

Making it ‘official’ didn’t really change much in your relationship. You went to him every afternoon, went to two or three races but you have yet to see him race. You see this guy known as Kai race a lot. Chen introduced you to him once after he won a race (you’re told he’s never lost...until...Chen didn’t finish that thought). He seems nice enough, flirty and smooth, but nice. There’s something in his eyes though, a kind of exhaustion that makes you worry for him.

Chen said that he would be racing tonight. Told you to wear something nicer, just to fit in. You’re ‘his’ girl now. Doesn’t seem too strange he’d want to show you off.

You wear skinny jeans, a black crop top and a leather jacket. Your hair is up in a high ponytail, because you know the races tend to get heated very quickly.  

When you get there, the crowd already seems to be pretty high and in full-swing. There are a lot more people than any race you’ve ever been to, a sight that makes you gulp nervously. It’s loud, so damn loud the floor pulses along with each note blasting through speakers, lights flashing all around.

You push through the crowd, trying to find EXO. They should be at the very front, next to the tracks.

“Excuse me.” You murmur, feeling incredibly small amongst the bodies of people. You almost get crushed a few times before you finally reach the front. You find Chen and his friends chatting, Kai is with him. He spots you, smiling and giving you a wave. 

When you reach him, he wraps you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Glad you could make it.“

“’Course.” You answer. “I wanted to see you race.”

He grins, sharing a glance with Kai who gives him a shrug.

“Well,” a deep voice rumbles in a chuckle, making a shiver run down your spine. You turn to face the speaker, a big man with a mean smile, ragged scars littered on his arms are shown off. “You ready for the race, boys?”

“Sure,” Kai answers easily, sharing another look with Chen. Kai doesn’t seem exactly pleased, though he keeps a cool composure. “You ain’t gonna back out from the deal, right?”

“’Course not, I’m a man of my word.” He says it humorously, gesturing at himself grandly. “I tell ya what? If you can win against me and my bro, I’ll buy all of your cars, no questions asked.”

Chen’s eyes shines. “Heh, pretty confident, aren’t ya?”

The man’s smile is wicked now, a threatening glint in his eyes. “’Course.”

Chen shrugs, an easy smile growing on his face. “Alright then. Let’s get this party started.”

You watch as the man and a friend of his gets into their respective cars. You can’t help but admire their cars; the guy just now has a shiny silver Subaru, not a speck of dirt on it.

Chen scoffs quietly beside you, Kai already getting ready to start. “Pity that car’s gonna get a few scars after tonight.”

“You’re really that confident?” You frown at him, feeling unease tickle your insides. They look tough, and scary. You wonder what kind of deal they made.

“Sure.” Chen winks at you. “Watch me, princess.”

He gets into his car, a white Nissan Skyline. You hear the engines rev to life, the flag girl blowing kisses to the crowd that cheers wildly, hyped for the upcoming race. When the flag goes down, the four cars zoom off, kicking up dirt.

You watch nervously as they glide smoothly down the track, Kai’s car clearly in the lead with the other team a close second. Chen is third. You watch his car intently, praying he’ll be able to override second place, but somehow it seems like that isn’t even his goal.

You watch in confusion as he seems to slow down, inching closer to the car in last place. He’s too close, and you can tell the other guy is nervous, afraid he’ll scratch or bump into his car, and he swerves left, trying hard to avoid him. Chen doesn’t let up though, continuing inching towards the guy’s car until he’s forced against the edges of the track. The guy tries to push back, tilting his car in hopes to get ahead of Chen, but the angle is off and he loses control of his car, spinning off the tracks. Chen speeds up as they come to a curve, going directly in front of the car that is in second place, replacing it. He blocks the car no matter which side it goes, as if Chen can predict his reactions.

He’s rigging the race! You gasp, wondering if anyone else notices, or if they even care. You glance at Chen’s friends, seeing the guy named Yeol smoke carelessly, looking bored out of his mind, his hand that isn’t holding the cigarette seemingly itching for something to do.

Either no one can see, or no one even cares. They just came for a good time, placing bets, drinking and getting high.

When they zoom past the finish line, it’s clear they Kai and Chen have won. The crowd is wild, cheering so loud you think you might go deaf. The other guy gets out of his car angrily, slamming the car door shut and stomping over to Chen, yelling at him.

You can see Chen’s easygoing smile, his careless shrug as Kai takes over. “A win is a win.” You can barely hear him say over the yelling, but you try reading his lips. “It’s our win, big guy.”

“You fucking cheated!” The other guy roars, face red and looking like he might explode at any second.

“What?” Chen looks convincingly shocked and offended. “You don’t have proof, man. Don’t be a sore loser.”

The man seems at loss for words now, sputtering incoherently before he stomps away with his friend.

When Chen and Kai come back, Kai obviously has a bitter look on his face, though he winks and grins at anyone who waves at him—especially the girls.

“Hey, good job guys.” Yeol says, blowing out smoke which you cough at. 

Kai huffs, a growl leaving his lips. “Yeah, whatever.” He pushes through the crowd, seemingly upset.

Chen shrugs at you, giving you a wink. “He’ll drink it off.”

“You rigged the race.” You hiss, eyes narrowing on him. 

He shrugs again, “And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” You exclaim in disbelief. “You cheated!”

“Yeah, well we gotta ensure a win somehow.” Chen says lowly, making sure no one hears. “This is our turf. We make the rules. Ain’t no one coming in here, challenge us and win. But it only happens occasionally, when we have a lot to lose. Most of the time we let Kai do his thing—he wins anyways, but sometimes we just need to make sure, ya know?”

You frown, deciding to hold your tongue. You knew they were the types to do illegal things to begin with. You decided to date him despite that. You don’t have any right to say what he’s doing is wrong—everything about him is wrong, but you’re with him regardless, isn’t that right?

“Aw, sweetheart.” He coos, pulling you close, lips finding that sweet spot below your ear. “Don’t be upset. It’s how we do things around here.”

“I’m not upset.” You lie, trying to act nonchalant. You chose him, and there’s no going back.

“How about we go for a ride?” He asks. “Get some air?”

“That sounds nice.” You manage a smile, a little excited you get to see him drive up close. And to get away from the sweaty, loud crowd and flashing lights. A drive sounds really, really nice right now. 

He ushers you towards his car, which is still surrounded by people after having finished the race. They let him through though, some clapping him on the back and giving him high-fives. You feel gazes on you that make you shiver, disgusted and Chen pulls you closer, throwing a glare at whoever looks at you wrong.

He opens the door to the passenger seat for you, making dramatic movements like a gentleman. You can’t help but laugh, getting in. He gets into the driver seat, revving up the engine and you can feel it rumble underneath you.

“This car’s my baby.” He says as he drives off, the crowd opening up a track for him to get out. It’s instantly quiet once he gets out the vicinity of EXO Customs. “92’ Nissan Skyline GT-R R32. Had it since college.”

“College?” You ask, never having head him mention it before. “What’d you study?”

“Art.” He answers, tone a little tighter than usual. His hold on the wheel is loose though, careless. You can’t help but stare at how good he looks driving like this, with his sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back from the wind, a lazy feel to him. “Always loved putting my mark on things. Seemed the obvious choice.”

“What about racing?” You watch him, see the way he glances at the rearview mirror, out the window. His neck is very pretty, you note, every time he turns his head. 

“Eh, racing is just another hobby.” He says casually. “When I met the guys, it’s all they did. Met them during high school. After we got out, I needed money to go to college, and they helped me with it. Couldn’t do it without ‘em.”

“Didn’t your parents pay for tuition?” You frown at that, wondering why an 18 year old kid fresh out of high school did things like that just to get into college.

You see his jaw clench, his hold on the wheel tightening, though his expression stays the same. “They weren’t the best.”

“Oh.” You don’t ask further. You feel like if you pushed it, he might snap at you, or just ignore you.

“Hey,” he says after a while of silence, a hand placed gently on your thigh. “I know a pretty place just up the hill.”

When he parks his car, you look up in awe at the stars glimmering in the sky. You rarely see stars in the middle of the city, but out here, it’s beautiful. You smile widely, counting the stars and wondering if you might be able to get to a million.

He chuckles. “You like it?”

“Yeah.” You beam at him. “Thanks, Chen.”

He seems pleased at your reaction, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“What do you wish for, Chen?” You ask, relaxing your body against the seat.

“I dunno.” He answers. “What about you?”

You think for a moment, watching how the stars shimmered like diamonds. “Maybe for you to be happy.”

He’s silent.

“Hey,” he pushes the seat back, climbing over to the backseat. He settles comfortably, patting his lap. “Come here.”

Hearing the growl in his voice, you instantly feel yourself grow hot. You climb to the back, sitting on his lap, your thighs on either side of him.

“Undress.” He murmurs, lips trailing your collarbone and your fingers are shaky when you peel off your leather jacket. It’s way too hot for that now.

His tongue peeks out to lick the dip of your collarbone, tracing the butterfly he tattooed for you. His tongue is searing on your skin, and his fingers trace circles against your waist.

You feel yourself begin to grow wet already. You move to take off your crop top, letting your breasts loose. 

He grins, pleased by the position as he moves to kiss them, nibbling and sucking, leaving hickeys. You’ve grown used to him leaving hickeys everywhere, and you always try to cover them up with concealer before you go to work.

“Keep going.” He growls against your skin as he feels you stop, arching against his mouth.

You let out a quiet whimper, feeling embarrassed for doing this yourself. Your trembling fingers move to your jeans, and you stand in order to push them off along with your underwear. When you settle back on him, the texture of his pants makes you moan.

“You sound so sexy.” He chuckles, his fingers dancing across your skin, down, down, down to tease at your entrance. “Wet already?”

You let out a soft whine, feeling him stroke you gently. It’s not enough though. You push his hand away, seeing him watch you with both surprise and amusement. You adjust yourself, shifting so you’re settled over his thigh, and you begin to slowly rock yourself.

He chuckles, clearly amused at what you’re trying to do. “Thigh riding, princess? You like this?” He presses his thigh harder against you and you moan, nodding as your hips go a little faster. The rough fabric of his pants adds a delicious bonus to your pleasure.

“Look at you.” He mumbles, his voice low and deep, vibrating through you and you clench harder, going faster to get more friction. “You’re so wet you’re staining my pants.”

“Chen.” You breathe out, your cheeks flushed and sweat beginning to bud on your skin. “I—”

“Want some help?” He grins, fingers coming to rub your clit slowly. “You gonna come, princess?”

You nod your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, letting his scent fill you. “G-Go faster.”

He complies, rubbing you faster as you continue going back and forth on his thigh, wanting to clench around something. You can feel your orgasm approach swiftly, almost there and you move your hips more desperately against him, your moans increasing in volume.

His fingers stop, and his hands come to hold your hips, halting you. “Wait princess,” he chuckles darkly as you whimper and whine, trying to shimmy your hips to no avail. “I can’t let you have all the fun now, can I?”

He unbuckles his pants and you wait in absolute torture as he slowly pulls out his dick, already rock hard with arousal. He sees how eager you are, so he leans back with his arms thrown over the seats, waiting for you to make your move. 

You hold him gently in your palms, running your fingers over his length, feeling smug when you hear him hiss at the feeling. You stroke his head, feeling the precum beading already. Some other time you’ll give him a blow job, you decide. But not today, because you’re too needy.

You pump him a few times, getting him ready although you know he’s plenty ready already. You slowly lift yourself, using his shoulders as leverage before you line yourself up with him, dropping as slowly as you can, clenching yourself around him torturously as revenge.

You feel his breath quicken, his hot puffs of breath mingling with yours. He holds your hips steady as you sink down fully, staying there for a moment to adjust.

“Fuck.” He swears, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so tight like this.”

You clench again at his deep, sexy voice, and he immediately growls in return. You get a better grip on his shoulders, wanting to kiss him but he’s already working on your neck, sucking the spot under your ear. You brace yourself, lifting yourself up before sinking down again, mewling at that beautiful feeling.

His hold on you tightens as he helps you find a rhythm, rocking him. You slowly build your pace, increasing in speed as you try to get a better position. He angles himself, timing it right and pushing up whenever you come back down, hitting your sweet spot. You throw your head back, practically screaming as he does so.

He adds his fingers, rubbing your clit again as your orgasm builds. Your grip on him tightens as your legs begin to grow weak from the pleasure. It’s hard to keep the pace, beginning to become sloppy. 

“You close?” He breathes out and you nod vigorously, whimpering when his fingers and hips move even faster. “Me too, princess. Cum with me.”

You nod again, finding it hard to breathe in this small space. He body is so close, so hot against yours and you suddenly wish he had taken all his clothes off too so you could feel his skin on yours.

“Ah, I-I’m—” You almost sob as you finally reach your high, feeling the pleasure spike and wrack through your body. You shudder, grinding hard against him and with a few more thrusts he comes too.

You continue rocking, grinding against him even after your highs, and he squeezes your hips to stop you. “Good job, princess.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the edge of your jaw as you whimper in response.

He removes you from him, getting some tissues he has in his car to clean you up before helping you back into your clothes.

“Ready to head back?” He asks and you nod, settling back into your seat, trying to catch your breath. He chuckles as he revs the engine again.

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A/N: Whew I finally finished writing this! I hope you enjoyed it~ (I know I am *wink wink*)

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Talk to me!

[the-absent-writer]

kuroshio: a short story

All eyes are on her as she glides across the stage, her sequined costume throwing rainbows and prisms on the walls of the music hall. She moves like a river: elegant and smooth, but if you look closely there is power, a force that will sweep any unsuspecting man away and pull him under the waves. They call her Kuroshio, after the current.

The soft notes of the piano melody follow her when she dances, her body the conductor and her arms the baton. The spotlight is an admirer of hers; a slave to graceful leaps and turns. Hands and fingers slowly lead the last few piano notes to their final resting place and she ends the routine, bare feet striking the wooden stage. The audience bursts into applause. She takes a bow and leaves the stage. The house lights go on and the seats are abuzz, some taking their leave while others chat about the performance.

A shadow moves in one of the private boxes on top, leaving, but not exiting, making its way towards the dancer’s dressing room. The guards outside the small room nod, opening the door. The dancer is seated at a vanity in the back, still in costume, and the figure steps behind her, illuminated by the lights of the mirror. Kuroshio whips around, surprised. He is monstrous, taller than anyone the dancer had ever seen before. Green eyes startle her, a sharp contrast to the browns and blacks she’s used to seeing. His scarred hands reach out in an invitation to her.

“Do excuse my sudden appearance, my dear Kuroshio-sama, but I simply had to speak with you,” he purrs, his voice a deep purple velvet. He moves to sit next to the girl and she turns away from him, picking up a small tablet sitting on the vanity. She taps the screen a few times and a robotic voice fills the air.

“I beg your pardon. I do not know who you are, nor your intentions, but I will not hesitate to call security if you do not remove yourself from my private dressing room.”

The man chuckles, arms moving to rest at his sides.

“So the rumors are true. You are mute.”

Kuroshio’s eyes narrow. He waves a hand, dismissive.

“Nevertheless, I do believe I owe you an introduction. My name is Touma. I run a modest organization, the nature of which I unfortunately must withhold, but you have caught the eye of many within the group. The reason for my visit today is in regards to that. I am extending an invitation to you to join our organization, Kuroshio-sama.”

More tapping, and the robot voice returns.

“Touma-san, while I do appreciate the offer, I do not know enough about you or this organization to even consider it. I am content with my current position here. I thank you, but I must ask you to please take your leave. Do have a pleasant day.”

Touma reaches into one of the many pockets of his suit, producing a business card. He sets it on the vanity and moves towards the door. He hesitates, and turns back towards Kuroshio. 

“I do hope you reconsider, Kuroshio-sama. My organization will be glad to have you. In the event that you do change your mind, however, please give my assistant a call. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear from you.” He exits the room, chuckling. A dread settles itself onto Kuroshio’s shoulders, no doubt a result of Touma’s prediction. She picks up the card he left, turning it over in her hands. Its gold embossed edges catch the light and she squints at the simple text stamped on it:

TOUMA HIGUCHI JYUGORI +8108075032034

Kuroshio sets the card back down and scoffs, an exhale without a voice. Why would this Touma have the nerve to interrupt her? What kind of name is Jyugori? What even is Jyugori? Maybe the Internet would have the answers. She reaches for her tablet, opening up a browser andsearching for this mysterious organization. Kuroshio steels herself for the results. If Touma wouldn’t tell her the work they did, then it must be pretty bad. Her first thought is yakuza. He certainly looks the part, what with his expensive-looking suit and dramatic business cards. A small smile appears on Kuroshio’s face at that thought. The mafia, recruiting a small-time dancer. Imagine the headlines!

The tablet beeps to indicate the search is done, interrupting Kuroshio’s mafia daydreams. The second result catches her eye, an opinion piece regarding gangs in the city. Curious, she taps the link and skims the article. So Jyugori is a gang. Figures. Kuroshio is about to click backwards when she sees a picture of Touma at the bottom of the webpage. It’s grainy, most likely taken from surveillance footage from one of the cameras around the city. It would otherwise seem ordinary, as it was his gang, but the caption turns her stomach.

TOUMA-HIGOKU (PICTURED) OUTSIDE CLUB KETSU

Higoku. A criminal. Kuroshio’s eyes widen and she feels her stomach flip. A convicted felon had been in her private dressing room. She puts the tablet back on the vanity and picks the business card back up. Scowling, she tears it into two, then four, then eight, letting the pieces fall to the wooden floor of the dressing room. She shivers and scratches at the high neck of her costume, a nervous habit.

There’s a knock at the door and her manager’s face appears, stopping by to congratulate Kuroshio on the show and to tell her she’s okay to go home, there’s nothing more to do. She thanks him with a nod and the door shuts again, leaving her alone. Trying to shake off Touma’s visit, she steps over to the small closet in the corner of the room and shrugs off her leotard, replacing it with street clothes. She wraps a scarf around her neck, picks up her bag, and steps out of the room, nodding to the security guards as she leaves the building.

It’s foggy outside, the streetlights a hazy glow in the diminishing evening light. There’s a sound behind her, like footsteps, and Kuroshio steals a quick glance. Nothing. Her eyebrows knit together and she hurries her pace, burrowing herself further into her hoodie. Kuroshio makes her way to the subway station next to the theater, her dark hair stiffening as the hairspray in it meets the cold underground air when she descends the stairs. There’s an ominous air to the station tonight and it makes the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Kuroshio readjusts her scarf and glances at the schedule on the wall. She’s just missed a train, next one’s in twenty minutes. Kuroshio finds a bench near the train platform, pulls a book out of her bag and settles in. She’s barely opened it when she hears the sound again. More footsteps, but this time louder, like there’s more of them, echoes bouncing off the station’s tiled walls and into her ears. A sensation Kuroshio could only call anxiety fills her body and she freezes, hands trembling as she closes her book.

Kuroshio risks looking behind her. She swivels slowly around and is met with the barrel of a gun two inches from her face. Her heart kicks into overdrive, shooting pure adrenaline through her. Her eyes become saucers, but her vision seems to narrow, all focus on the weapon in front of her. Kuroshio inhales sharply, body paralyzed by fear. The gun clicks, bullet in the chamber, and her blood runs cold. She can almost see her body on the cold pavement, crimson flowing from her head like the Tama River. 

Clapping punctures the tense silence and the gun lowers, freeing Kuroshio from the prison of her mind. She finally looks at the man holding the weapon and her only thought is confusion. He looks like a soldier, wearing the uniform of the Self-Defense Forces. She squints at the insignia on his chest, expecting to see a Japanese flag. There’s another flag there, one she doesn’t recognize, a white ring on a black background. She tears her gaze away from the strange flag, eyes drifting to the rest of the station. It’s filled with soldiers, all wearing the same emblem.The sea of camouflage parts to reveal a woman in a long red coat, the source of the clapping.

The woman steps towards Kuroshio, black heels clicking against the station floor. She stops when she reaches the bench Kuroshio’s sitting on, shoving a gloved hand in her face. The soldiers close ranks behind her.

“Sonohara. Pleasure to meet you, Kuroshio. I hope you can forgive our sudden entrance, I did think it was a bit too strong.”

Kuroshio takes her hand, stunned. This makes two strange people in a single day. It’s a new record. Sonohara smiles, moving to sit next to Kuroshio, hands back in her coat pockets.

“I bet you’re very confused right now. I’d be too if a whole bunch of soldiers appeared out of nowhere. Let me explain. I’m the current head of Shisuna. We’re a small agency within the Japanese government trying to keep the gangs in Tokyo under control and stop them, Jyugori in particular, from getting any stronger. You can probably guess why we approached you now of all times.” She places a hand on Kuroshio’s shoulder, leaning in. Kuroshio tenses.

“I don’t think I have to warn you about Touma, but just in case I will. That man is dangerous.”

Sonohara’s grip on Kuroshio’s shoulder tightens and her serious expression twists into a grimace.

“He’s a monster who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Stay away from him. Join Shisuna. We’ll be able to keep you safe. What do you say, Kuroshio?”

Kuroshio’s taken aback. Sure, Touma’s scary, but she didn’t think he was as much of a monster as Sonohara thinks he is. She thinks it’s odd that Sonohara’s recruitment pitch revolved almost entirely around Tomua while Touma’s didn’t even mention Shisuna or Sonohara. Kuroshio’s instincts are screaming at her to get away. Any woman who brings a whole army to try and recruit a dancer is dangerous. Even Touma didn’t try and intimidate her like Sonohara is trying to. Kuroshio reaches into her bag for her phone, fishing it out and starts typing her response.

“I’m sorry Sonohara-san, but like I told Touma-san, I am comfortable with my current position and don’t see a need to join any new organization. Thank you for your offer, though.”

Sonohara’s face darkens and she stands up stiffly. She signals to the soldier next to Kuroshio, beckoning him forward.

“I’m very disappointed, Kuroshio. I had hoped we’d reach an understanding, but it seems that isn’t going to happen. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave. I can’t risk you going to Jyugori. Goodbye, Kuroshio. Minamoto, take care of her.”

She turns to leave, the soldiers once again parting to let her though. They follow her out, boots throwing echoes over the walls. The soldier from earlier, Minamoto, turns to her and raises his gun once again. The panic sets in again and Kuroshio isn’t sure what to do. She’s back in the mental prison, tunnel vision and paralysis returning. She can’t die here. Not now. There’s still so much she has to do. Kuroshio is panting, her heart pounding out of her chest. Minamoto clicks a bullet into place, finger on the trigger. He’s about to pull it when what sounds like an explosion rings through the station. Minamoto jerks and collapses on the concrete with a thud, a bullet lodged in the back of his head.

Kuroshio wants to scream, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She backs away from him, her back hitting the edge of the bench. He’s dead. She’s hyperventilating now, breath coming too fast and the adrenaline is making her hands tremor, like little tiny earthquakes are pulsing through her.

“Are you okay, Kuroshio-sama?”

She jerks her head up towards the voice, terrified. Touma is standing there, gun in hand, still smoking. He tucks it away and moves towards Kuroshio, who can’t back away any further. He stops a few feet away from her and extends a hand.

“I know. I’m probably the last person you want to see right now. I’m sorry. I didn’t think Sonohara would actually make contact so soon after I did.”

His voice is kind, so much different than the last time they met. His eyes meet hers, and they’re soft.

“Please come with me. We need to leave before she comes back. My assistant is in the car outside. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

Kuroshio tentatively reaches a hand towards Touma, heart still racing and her whole body shaking. Touma smiles softly and crosses the few feet to take her hand. She stands up and follows him out, feeling numb. They go up the stairs silently, and are out, the evening light having faded into the purples and blacks of night. True to his word, there’s a car and a woman standing there. Her green dress is bright under the streetlight. She drapes a blanket around Kuroshio’s shaking form and opens the car door, gently urging her inside the vehicle. Touma sits next to her, tapping the window twice to signal the driver to go.

The adrenaline starts to wear off and Kuroshio feels empty. Numb, even. There’s nothing going through her head now that she’s out of danger. Touma seems to sense this, and turns towards her.

“I’m sure you want an explanation.”

Kuroshio nods slowly.

“I should start with an apology. I panicked when I first tried to recruit you. I didn’t expect you to be so adamant about your rejection and I went full sociopath. I’m sorry. I assure you, I’m not actually like that at all. Anyway, I tried to recruit you for more than just you catching the eye of our organization. Jyugori is a gang, but we’re not the bad guys, I promise. Sonohara lied to you. Shisuna is in fact a government group, but they’re not trying to keep us from gaining power. This is going to sound like it came straight out of a shonen manga, but they’re creating soldiers. I can’t say super soldiers, but that’s the best example I can give. Those men you saw in there are only a small sample of their power. They probably wanted you because you’d make an excellent soldier. You’re thin and small and would make the perfect assassin. We got lucky and got to you first, but Sonohara came after you tonight because I talked to you. She saw me try and snatch you away and thought she needed to hurry. Jyugori is trying to keep her and her organization away from as many people as we can, but their numbers are growing. I’ll be honest, I’m getting

desperate, and sloppy as a result. Do you believe me?”

Another nod. Kuroshio isn’t getting any hostility from Touma, nor does she think he’s lying.

“This probably isn’t the best time to bring it up, but I’ll extend an invitation to you again. We’re almost at the base. Don’t worry, it’s much different than the previous one. If you were to side with Jyugori, you could keep this from happening to anyone else. I won’t ask you to leave your current position. All I ask is that you keep an eye out for Shisuna and Sonohara, and pass on any information you hear about them. Does that seem fair? What do you say?”

Kuroshio hesitates. If she were to join for real, then she could keep Sonohara away from anyone else. Would it be selfish of her to say no? Jyugori couldn’t stop it from happening to her, so what’s the point?

Touma seems to sense her hesitation, and clears his throat.

“I won’t force you to make a decision right away. You’re welcome to stay with our organization for the time being and get to know everyone. We’ll keep Sonohara off your tail regardless of the choice you make, though. It’s all up to you.”

Kuroshio shakes her head. She knows what she has to do. The panic and fear has worn off and given way to pure anger and rage. She’s angry with Sonohara and her goons for going after her, angry at the world for doing this to her. She raises her head to Touma, and her eyes are ablaze, fury lifting her up.

“I see. Welcome to Jyugori, Kuroshio.”

[magoa-themed]

His Love, Someone’s Trust ~~~~~~~Prologue~~~~~~~

People like to give ‘falling in love’ the image of happiness and joy; of finding someone, that a person would sacrifice anything for and they in turn would reciprocate that selflessness for you. As a kid true love was everywhere, in books, fairy tales, and cartoons. They are naive to the pain and suffering that comes with love, to the true and real scars it leaves on someone. As a child love is great and pure, it's the love from parents before it rots, the love for one’s friends before life gets complicated, it's the love of self before the eyes can be clouded with judgement and expectations.

Children then grow up and suddenly love is no longer pure. Parents get sick of their kid having an opinion, friends stab friends in the back with no explanation, and the mirror becomes a place of harassment and loathing. Then there is a new form of love, it is a toxic thing with pain and suffering more than any other form can cause.

For some they will go back to having pure love into adulthood, but the rest are stuck in a cycle of misery. For the very select few they will find that toxic love and turn it into something worth having. But that is only for the luckiest of humans and the ones who search for it.

Delirious is neither lucky nor searching for it. To him love was and will only ever be felt at one point and that is when you are small and unknowing. Of course he loves his friends but he keenly aware of how life works unfortunately. He knows if there was a great opportunity that any of them would drop him for it.

Like Evan.

Before 2 weeks ago Delirious wouldn’t have been thinking the thoughts he was now but it seems that Evan constantly ditching him to be with some girl doing things he hated got the blue eyed man contemplating things he hasn’t contemplated since his teen years. Evan had triggered these unwanted thoughts and now no matter how much Del tried he couldn’t seem to get rid of them. They burned words into him that he never thought he would consider and prodded questions that had him up all night.

Delirious had tried love and it had always ended badly, and though upset he shook it off and carried on with life. Now it seemed all the pain from all the failed partners was coming back to him in rapid succession. He recalled the ones who cheated on him or the few that made him feel like lesser of a person because of their own insecurities. The morning he woke up and his home was empty again without a trace of the other resident besides the note on the table. That one had been especially hard.

He had gone through it all with a smile though and slowly yet surely there stopped being a significant other beside him. Without being conscious of it he had stopped looking for someone and even avoided the idea of it. There is only so much a person can take after all and even though it was lonely he had his friends. He learned fast that a ‘true love’ wasn’t necessary and he could be content without one.

But the sudden lack of Evan had him breaking down his logic. Friends could abandoned and hurt him just as easily as a girlfriend or boyfriend could. The thought sickened him, thinking about his friends doing to him what he had allowed some many other to do. He put so much trust and faith into them but now that blind faith was slipping and he was beginning to see things he didn’t want to see.

After 3 weeks of not talking to Evan and contemplating all his relationships everything shot downhill. Delirious woke up that morning to his phone flashing from the millions of notifications he was receiving at once. It was literally millions, what was going on?

When he opened his phone the first thing he saw was Evan in a suit. It seemed like it was a talk show sort of thing. He had never mentioned anything like that to Delirious, not once did Del get a message from the Canadian about anything cool he was gonna be doing. He brushed it off though, it's not like the man had been talking to him in general for the last 3 weeks. Then something caught his eye, a comment reading, “It’s super cool that he mentioned all the guys as part of his success! We got to learn a lot about delirious, they asked so many questions and we got so many answers =3”.

It was to be expected honestly. Since Delirious never showed his face people always asked the guys about him, most of them knew as much about his appearance as the fans did though so they were never a good source. Though the part about learning a lot about him made him uneasy he shrugged it off without much thought.

It was fine that Vanoss had enough time to go on a talk show but not enough to talk to him. They hadn’t played together in too long and Del was have withdrawals, which yes, he knows sounded really dumb but he couldn’t think of any other way to put it. 

He was about to shut off his phone and escape the noise that emitted from it when a message from Luke appeared. He tapped the screen and let his eyes linger on the message.

Luke: shit del have you seen it? I'm going to fucking kill evan.

                                                  Seen what? What the hell did he do!? :Del

Luke: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvrCxzo_S-g 20:34

Luke: That fucking BITCH! What kind of idiot does this to a friend!!!???

Luke: I'll be there soon don't do anything stupid

When he taps the link he is once again hit with the picture of Evan in a suit. It fits him well, showing how in shape he really was. Del moves on not wanting to linger any longer, already having spent enough time starring to set a knot in his stomach.

He goes pulls the red dot along the edge of his phone, stopping a minute or two before the time Luke had told him to.

They went through standard questions that had been asked about all the guys, it didn’t seem abnormal. He went to back out and yell at Luke for giving him a heart attack until words stopped him.

“Okay now we have to ask, do you know what the mysterious H2ODelirious looks like”, some random host spoke with a light tone.

“Yes, actually. Though I have never met Delirious in person I do know what he looks like”, Evan’s response is hesitant but the wide smile on his face doesn't allow anyone besides those who are close to him to notice.

A grin twists on the hosts face, “Well we are so glad that you were willing to share your knowledge with us”.

Evan’s smile is gone and replaced with a look of confusion, “What do yo-”.

Then there he is, Delirious chokes on the air he gasped into his throat. There he was...there he was, THERE WAS HIS FACE ON THE FUCKING SCREEN. He didn’t know what to do, he wanted to cry, he really wanted to let Luke kill Evan.

He was panicking.

“No no no no no no no no nononononono fuck shit fuck”, he stumbled over his words mumbling then yelling. Too many thoughts went through his head at once, the room spun in so many direction. He had gone through so much shit to make sure his fans didn't find out what he looked like, so much, and now it was all fucking pointless.

He didn't want people harassing his family, he didn't want to be crowded with people all the time because that's what being “famous” was. But Evan didn’t care! Evan did what he had to so he could get famous!

Delirious threw his hand at the wall in his bedroom breaking more then the wall in the process. Fuck...how could Evan do this to him. Delirious had trusted him, why did he ever trust him? Didn't he know this would happen? Isn’t that why he hadn’t showed the other guys his face, because he had predicted this outcome from the very beginning?

Delirious pressed his back against the wall to his empty house sliding down until he was on the floor. He used the hand that wasn't shattered to hold the one that was as if it could magically heal the damage done. He just stared at it not knowing what to do.

Once the initial anger and adrenaline had faded he was left only with pain. By the time Luke got there he was crying, still in the same exact spot from an hour before. Whether he was crying because of the way he had suddenly lost all trust in anyone or because of his hand he couldn't say but if he had to guess it was both.

Luke had flipped when he saw Jonathan's hand. He had never been good when it came to blood or injuries in real life and it took most of his willpower not to throw up on the spot. He knew he had to be strong for at least that one moment as he walked over to his friend trying his hardest not to look at the mutilated hand.

“What the fuck did you do Jay? Jesus, it looks like you took a hammer to that thing!”. Johnathan did not respond, he just stared into the endless abyss in front of him, Luke frowned.

“Jay I need you to answer me dude”, he was on his knees in front of Delirious now. The blue eyed man only gave a small nod. To Luke it didn’t even seem like his friend saw him, he looked as if he was focused on something that was right behind him. Del’s eyes were dull and full of pain, the blue that once stood so prominent now sank into his features pulling everything with it. He looked almost...dead.

“Shit”, Luke cursed under his breath, “Jay I’m taking you to the hospital, get up”. Johnathan didn't move, he didn't even blink at the words.

“Your a dick”, he pulled the younger man to his feet and led him to the door. Delirious did not resist he didn't even seem to be aware they were moving, putting most of his weight on Luke. Luke held onto him like he could shatter any moment and Del clung to Luke as if he was the only thing keeping his head above water. The only thing that kept him from drowning in doubt.

So this is really short but stuff happened so yay!! I love watching my characters suffer hehe. I have no idea how long its going to be and I’m working a chapter outline right now. Thanks for reading! hope you have a great day!! 

[priioritys]

saga’s massive app intros pt. 1 aka 8 intros in one post and 9 more are coming soon because i’m a wreck of a human being and i’m trying not to spam the dash !! ya’ll know the drill !! hmu for plots or give this a like and i’ll bother you !!

TESSA TELLER looks an awful lot like GAL GADOT. SHE is TWENTY EIGHT and while they're BRAVE, they have a tendency to get pretty NAIVE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to WE MUST BE KILLERS by MIKKY EKKO. 

exists only in the super & future verses because of Reasons you’ll see soon

grew up with a good family and a good life until she was about 14 when she ( super verse ) developed healing powers and was kidnapped by a malicious organization or ( future verse ) was kidnapped by a malicious organization

for years, she was experimented on and turned into, more or less, a bionic woman

large amounts of her body were replaced with technology, including large parts of her brain that led to her being brainwashed and controlled by the organization

she was used as a weapon for years, but eventually managed to break free and now she’s trying to figure out how to live a normal life

CASSIOPEIA LIU looks an awful lot like CHLOE BENNET. SHE is TWENTY THREE and while they're INQUISITIVE, they have a tendency to get pretty STUBBORN. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to SERA WAS NEVER by RANEY SHOCKNE.

3000 feet of Angery in a 5′4″ body

raised by a single dad that was the best and she loved him more than anything

her town was tormented by a serial killer for a long time but the killings eventually stopped around the same time her dad disappeared

everyone decided that meant her dad was the killer but cas was having none of that

so she packed up everything she owned in to her VW van and decided to go on a road trip to find her dad and prove his innocence

CORIANDER WHITTLE looks an awful lot like THOMAS MCDONELL. HE is TWENTY FOUR and while they're GENTLE, they have a tendency to get pretty SELFLESS. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to HELLO MY OLD HEART by THE OH HELLOS.

had a really good childhood and grew up really happy and things should have been fine but then his little sister joined a cult

he ended up joining the cult in an attempt to save her, but she was too brainwashed and refused to leave

he tried to escape, but he was caught and punished several times, leaving him physically disabled and mentally traumatized

EVENTUALLY, he managed to escape fully but he still lives every day in fear of being found by the cult and forced to go back

FINNICK PORTER looks an awful lot like DYLAN SPRAYBERRY. HE is EIGHTEEN and while they're DETERMINED, they have a tendency to get pretty FRAGILE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to AFTER THE STORM by MUMFORD AND SONS.

was a total jock and douche-y rich kid tbh

thought he was the best thing that ever happened to anybody and everyone should consider themselves lucky to even speak to him

then he went on a trip with his family to a remote cabin up in the mountains and tragedy struck

there was an avalanche and they were trapped - he was the only one to make it out alive and he had to do horrible things to survive

now he’s rightfully traumatized and attempting college but doing really badly at being alive

HADRIEL ALEXANDER looks an awful lot like SAM CLAFLIN. HE is THIRTY and while they're FORGIVING, they have a tendency to get pretty SOFT SPOKEN. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to GRAVEYARD WHISTLING by NOTHING BUT THIEVES.

raised by super religious parents with horrible senses of morality that were driven more by greed than any holiness

they forced him to be part of their travelling ministry as part of a con act where he would pretend to heal people 

he hated everything about it, but he was abused when he tried to speak up or tell anyone the truth

that went on for years until he was finally rescued 

after readjusting to life away from his parents, he decided to rediscover his faith outside of them

he became a preacher, establishing himself in a church in kola and hoping to help people who had suffered like him

RONAN FISHER looks an awful lot like BOB MORLEY. HE is TWENTY NINE and while they're INTUITIVE, they have a tendency to get pretty RESENTFUL. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to SHADOW PREACHERS by ZELLA DAY.

only exists in the super verse because he has visions of the future

his parents loved him, but after he predicted his mother’s death in a car wreck and it came true, things were never the same

he even saw when and how his future wife would die on the first day they met, but decided to marry her anyway because he wanted to ignore his visions

tried to save her, but ended up just shifting fate so that  his sister died instead and his wife died only a year later from cancer

now he’s bitter and angry and doesn’t care about anyone in the world because he doesn’t want to be hurt by what he sees anymore

ASTORIA WHITMAN looks an awful lot like LILY JAMES. SHE is TWENTY SIX and while they're OPTIMISTIC, they have a tendency to get pretty SELF-HATING. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to HURRICANE by FLEURIE.

was raised in a pretty conservative family, but loved it because she didn’t know anything better

she was treated like an object more than anything, home schooled and constantly lectured about how nothing was more important than staying pristine and holy

so when she started realizing that girls were just as pretty as boys, well, it wasn’t good news

after she went to college and finally got away from her parents, she got herself a girlfriend but someone saw them together and sent a picture back to her parents

they had a falling out and disowned her completely, leaving her to fend for herself

now, six years later, she’s happily working as a waitress in kola, glad to be free of their oppressive weight

SOPHIE DETTWILER looks an awful lot like SAOIRSE RONAN. SHE is TWENTY and while they're RESOURCEFUL, they have a tendency to get pretty STANDOFFISH. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to RAISE THE DEAD by RACHEL RABIN.

had a good family growing up, but lost her father and older brother in a car accident when she was ten

the same accident left her scarred, but more noticeably damaged her vocal chords to the point where she can no longer talk without a severe stutter, so she usually chooses not to

despite this, she’s still a punk ass bitch, will probably try to fight you while signing that ur a lame ass bitch

[tysonrunningfox]

Chiefly Acting

This is a long chapter but I don’t care because I’ve been waiting and I needed feret, I’m sorry, so here is a very big chapter.  I know not as many people got as caught up as I was hoping, but @goonlalagoon and @riverrockets (who drew FUSE AND NOW SHE IS MY PHONE BACKGROUND AND I LOVE HER SO MUCH) inspired me today and now I gotta throw this on you.  Sorry not sorry.

Tumblr | AO3

Mom makes breakfast. Aurelia reads, that odd accent becoming smoother and smoother as she mumbles things to herself under her breath and making notes on a scrap of parchment.  The chief sits at the table, skinny and old without his leather armor and nibbling at breakfast like he can’t let himself starve and leave us without such a constant reminder that yesterday happened.  That things were different then.  That they’re always going to be different now, at some level.

Stoick is unusually quiet, playing on the floor with an old carved dragon, taping it on the hearth and whispering to Bang.  

“Here, there’s more,” Mom refills my plate as soon as I clean it and I fail at holding back my desperation for her not to.  

“No, I’m full—”

“You’re growing,” she gives me another scoop for good measure, “that shirt’s too small.  I’ll make you some new ones.”  She tugs at the seam on my shoulder and her hand is both clinical and affectionate and I get a flash of an impression that she’s wondering if what she lost would have looked enough like me for her to imagine. “Maybe I should have kept Arvid’s old clothes, I think you’re finally catching up.”  

“Do you have to mock me?” I expect Aurelia to look up at a mention of Arvid, but she doesn’t.  If anything she leans closer to the page and I wonder if she wasn’t just around more because Mom needed her.  Or the chief needed Mom to need her.  Right now it seems like everyone needs Mom more than she needs them and I don’t want to be on that list.  I want to actually help, I want to make it worth it that I’m the one here, like somehow that’ll make it less sad.  

Like if I turn it around I can be half a success.  

“No, I’m serious,” she yanks at my sleeve and it doesn’t stretch all the way to my wrist.  “I wish I had the pattern I used last winter.”  

“We can buy clothes,” Aurelia glances at me, sullen and oddly committed as she shuts the book and sits up straight, “you can relax, you know.”  

“Like rest will help anything now,” the chief drops the crust of the bread he’s been nibbling on and it’s so tense and pained when his face half crumples that Toothless doesn’t lick up the treat even though it’s practically on his foot.  He’s curled around the chief’s chair and somehow I doubt anyone Toothless doesn’t approve of could get close to him.  

“Hiccup,” Mom chastises, expression hard even though her voice is gentle, like she’s scared of breaking him.  I think it might be too late for that, honestly, and another pang in my stomach signals the nonsensical cosmic connection between his pain and the part of me that’s him.  

“My shirt’s fine,” I cough, pushing my still full plate away.  My sleeves feel too short now that Mom pointed it out and I push them up to my elbows, looking pointedly at the list in front of the empty seat at the table. It’s the chief’s list, the master list, the one that he points at whenever he’s trying to get me to do something particularly gross or annoying, like I’ll believe it’s the list making me do it and not him.  

I know that’s just Stoick’s seat, but it feels different, it feels like someone more worthy of that list is supposed to be there.  A real heir, the one they wanted.  

“Can we stop talking about Eret’s stupid shirt?”  Aurelia snaps at me, like this is all my fault, and I almost reflexively apologize. But something tells me it won’t do anything and the part of me that would like to predict the next hit before it lands imagines forever in this house with her mad at me.  

“Not the name I would have picked…” The chief mumbles, staring at me like I’m inanimate or he’s not quite sure I’m real and it makes me feel like I shouldn’t be.  

“Hiccup,” Mom chides him a little more sternly, setting her hand on his and squeezing.  She’s as pale as I’ve ever seen her and I look at the list again.  

“Who’s going to do that?”

“What?”  Mom looks at the empty chair too and I wonder if she sees it the way I am, as a place someone else is supposed to be.  

“The list,” I almost reach for it but that feels like a decision I don’t know if I get to make. “Everything that’s supposed to happen today.  Who’s going to do it?”  

“That’s what you’re worried about?  Some list?” Aurelia scoffs, “you’re just trying to ignore the problem—”

“No, I’m…” I fumble for the words, not because she’s wrong but because she’s right.  I do want to ignore this.  I do want to forget about it as long as possible and hope that a magic solution to the way I feel finds its way out of my subconscious at some point. But it’s more than that, I realize, it’s…I don’t know what to do about this.  About the fog in this room, about Mom’s expression or the chief’s lack of one. Aurelia’s anger at me for some reason I don’t understand.  

But that list?  I might be able to do some of those things.

“Typical,” she scoffs, “this isn’t something you can plan away—”

“I’m not ignoring anything,” I stand up, my chair squeaking across the floor as I grab the list and roll it in my hand, “I’m just noting that other people’s problems still exist—”

“Because they’re easier.”

“Aurelia,” Mom’s voice cracks, almost angry in a tired, hollow way.  

“Chief?”  I ask, holding the roll out when he looks at me, taking a long second to recognize me.  That must have been how I looked at him before I put it together, that sense of familiarity.  I wonder if he’s going to see the ghost of someone he never knew every time he looks at me now.  “Are you going to come help me with this or—”

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” he looks at the list, “it doesn’t matter like I thought it did.”  

“Ok…” I look at Mom but her face is unreadable.  She nods at me, almost imperceptible.  “Well…I think it’ll matter if….” I look at the list and pick out a random line, “the barley field keeps flooding.  So I’m going to go…fix that.  Somehow. I have no idea how but—”

“Go.”  Mom looks at Stoick, “can you get your shoes on?  Eret will take you to dragon training.”  

“Do I have to go?”  Stoick shuffles his feet and stomps half a stomp.  “I’m doing something important.”  

“Shoes.  Now.”  Mom lets go of the chief’s hand, “any color preference on the shirts?”  

“I don’t need shirts.” I grab Stoick’s hand and call Bang, holding the door for both of them and stepping outside feeling both lighter and more exhausted.  I feel bad leaving Mom with all of that but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know what else would matter.  

Like yeah, I could stay and argue with Aurelia and snark back at the chief like it makes his blank eyes not matter, but that wouldn’t help anything.  I can’t even guarantee that it wouldn’t make anything worse.  

“What’s going on?” Stoick asks, yanking his hand from mine and scrambling onto Bang’s back.  Bang doesn’t even pause anymore, just hunches his back slightly for Stoick to find the toe hold on his elbow, and there’s just another way I’ve been replaced.  I never thought Bang would ditch me if I finally got a fraction of some supposed growth spurt.  

Catching up with Arvid, my ass.  

“What do you mean, bud?”

I’m glad Mom didn’t tell him.  I don’t know why she made that choice, but it was right, even if it’s hard now to look at him being the same age I was when I was accidentally burning down forges and everyone noticed what I was and what I clearly wasn’t.  He’s too smart to be lied to but so was I and it’s the passing of a perverse torch for me to do it now.  

“Everyone is sad.”  He lays down on Bang’s head, cheek smushed against Bang’s face.  “Why is everyone sad?”  

“Aurelia is more mad at me than sad,” I try and divert, “and frankly, I’d love your insight on that because I have no idea what her problem has been lately.”  

“I think it’s something about a boy,” he wrinkles his nose, “but that’s not why Dad’s sad.”  

“I think he’s sad because of a boy too,” I sigh, “not like that, but…well, you don’t need to worry about it.”  

“I’m already worried about it.”  He leans up on his elbows, head on his hands, comfortable like only a kid on a well trained dragon can be.  Probably more even, given that he grew up with Toothless and the lack of fear that comes with that.  

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“Why?”  

“Because I’m worried about it already,” I nod like I know what I’m talking about, “ok?  I’ve got the worrying covered and plus, you’ve got more important sh—stuff!  I mean stuff to worry about.  Don’t you start Terror tracking soon?  That was hard for even me.”  

“It’s gonna be easy,” he shakes his head, “I track with Toothless all the time.  He can find all my lost toys.”  

“That’s because he already knows how to do it.”  I scratch under Bang’s chin for a second before almost tentatively ruffling his hair. He doesn’t shove me off and I hate how I feel right for lying to him, even if I didn’t really lie.  I just told him the part of the truth that he should know.

That’s worse, isn’t it.

“It’s gonna be easy.”

“You say that,” I push up my sleeve and show him a vaguely curved burn scar on my forearm.  “Until you’re trying to train a dragon to find your clothes and they find you instead.”

His eyes widen, “really?”

“No, not really,” I laugh, “that’s a burn, but Arv—my older—a guy in my training class got bit in the ankle.  It’s not easy to train a dragon to do the right thing even when you aren’t watching them.”  

“It’s gonna be easy.”  He crosses his arms, looking so much like Aurelia that I don’t quite know what to do with it, because I can’t remember where I exist in it anymore.  

“I hope it is, bud.”  

00000

Everything else, all of the rest of these changes happened overnight.  I blinked and everything was different.  But this takes time, apparently.  This takes days.  Days of the chief staring blankly at the wall in an empty house while I’m talking to someone, lips pinched into a tight white line when I stop in to ask him something. It’s days of picking through pathetically few items on that list, even as it gets longer and longer.  It’s days of noticing that the chief’s handwriting looks just like mine except smeared, because he writes with his left and drags his hand across the runes.  Once the whole list smears in my pocket or hand, I can’t tell the last thing he put on it from the first thing I did.  

It’s the first time chiefing feels hard, unnatural, lonely.  People look at me like they know something is wrong and like they assume I don’t and it’s like the first sixteen years of my life and something entirely different all at once.  

It’s worse.  

Because I’m alone and Aurelia is with Mom, probably prying, and winter’s creeping away just enough for people to come outside and look to someone for direction and I’m the only one moving.  

“But Eret,” Gunnar Ericson explains with a calm sort of patience, like he’s not sure I can handle the conversation, “the west field flooded in the melt and I can’t get anything to grow anywhere else until summer.”  

I know absolutely nothing about farming.  Even fishing, I only understand at a magical, surface level where a net is put in the sea and somehow fish know to swim into it.  But farming?  Seeds grow things.  That’s about the extent of my knowledge.  And I know that there was something weird in the creek flooding everything and I know that Aurelia talked to Fuse about it and I don’t know what happened and the field might be poisoned or something, but maybe plants like flammable soil or maybe the soil isn’t flammable anymore.  

Is it normal for the chief to answer questions with a question?  I think I’ve heard him do it before but I think he always meant it, like he was looking for a particular answer.  I don’t know what I’m looking for.  

“Umm…Try?”  I wince as it comes out and Gunnar glances in the direction of the chief’s house, closing his eyes and nodding sympathetically at me.  

“Sound counsel, acting chief.”  

“I’m not acting chief,” I shake my head, because that sounds official and I don’t know if anything I’ve ever done has ever been official.  I wasn’t even born official.  I’ve spent days pretending and it was exhausting without a title.  “So I mean, if trying is going to kill your entire crop and starve the entire island,” I swallow and shrug one shoulder, “don’t?”  

“More good advice.” He nods, “it’s ok to tell me to come back later, chief.”  He smiles, his upper lip disappearing beneath his thick brown moustache and I remember the time Arvid and I stole an apple from his stand and feel endlessly guilty all over again about it.

“Yeah, that’d be good.” I realize need to talk to the actual chief and frown, “I don’t know exactly when.  Probably not later today.  Or tomorrow.”  Or before everything falls apart in my uncapable hands.  

“Maybe things will have dried out by then,” he nods before walking away.  

I need to talk to the chief about this one.  At this point, the questions I need to talk to the chief about is longer than the list of items I’ve managed to cross off of the masterlist on my own and I realize that means it’s probably time to go talk to him.  I’m not afraid to admit to myself that I’ve been avoiding it, but I also can’t find it in me to beat myself up about it because as soon as I step into the house my stomach drops.  

The chief is sitting at the table, exactly where he was when I left.  He looks up and stares silently at me for a second before looking back at a document that he can’t possibly be reading because it’s the same thing he was pretending to read yesterday and the day before that.  It’s like he barely exists, everything annoying but alive about him dead except for where it’s stuck to me like a stain I can’t get off and don’t think I want to anymore.  Because it should exist in someone else too, it feels like a doubly applied weight on my shoulders.  

“Hey chief.”  

“Hey Eret.”  His tone shifts across my name and I almost blurt out that I’d change it to Hiccup IV if he stopped making Mom take care of him.  

I wouldn’t, I don’t think. That’d be shedding responsibility too and sometimes I think the narrow channel I exist in between all those responsibilities I can’t avoid is the only thing keeping me moving forward.  Freedom feels dangerous, I don’t know what I’d do and I fear it wouldn’t be here and Berk would be different and worse when I got back.  And more than sitting here, it would be because of my decision.  

“I have a few questions about stuff.”  I set the list down on the table, my hand thumping a little too loud against the wood like the sound will snap him out of it.  It does, for a second, and he frowns at me like he forgot what I just said. “Around the village.  People asked me a bunch of things I don’t know the answer to.”  

“I’m sure the village is fine,” he shrugs, looking back at the top of the document like he hasn’t gotten any further than that.  Or, more likely, like he’s rereading the first sentence again and again and absorbing nothing.  “I’ll get to it.”  

“Some of this is a little more urgent than—”

“I’m sure nothing is that urgent—”

“There’s flooding in the West firld that’s preventing planting and a delay in building that new dock because of a low wood pile and the dragon hanger isn’t warming up enough—”

“You don’t need to worry about any of those things right now.”  

“Well…” I set my jaw, leaning further into the decision I already made once, “I’m worrying about them.”

“Nothing’s going to blow up in the next few days,” he says it like he’s mostly trying to convince himself and like he doesn’t realize that it’s already been a few days.  

“That’s another thing, isn’t Fuse supposed to be working on that woodbin wall?  Because that’s why I can’t get the wood for the dock—”

“I can’t do this right now.” He snaps and for a second and I think he’s going to cry.  He stares at me for a moment, face blank like he knows I’m supposed to be responding and he’s hearing it even though I’m not saying anything.  

“I think…I think it needs to get done.”  I sigh and push a loose piece of hair behind my ear, “and people are starting to call me chief and acting chief like that’s a title—”

“Acting chief?”  He perks up slightly, looking at a spot above my head like I won’t notice it’s not my eyes.  

“Yeah, I didn’t tell them to call me that or anything—”

“It’s a great idea,” the chief makes a note on a blank page in his notebook and it trails off after the first few runes.  They smear but otherwise they look like mine.  “The village needs a chief and you’re acting like it.  I’ll write up a notice—”

“Wait, no.  I don’t know what I’m doing,” I shake my head, the urge to yawn and scream and stab him and stab something else all mounting at the same time, “I got asked about farming today.  I don’t know anything about farming, I can’t…I don’t…”  I shrug, throwing my arms in the air and he flinches when they smack back down against my sides.  “Help me out here, maybe?”  

It’s the thing I never said that he’s always wanted to hear.  I expect it to work, I expect some magical realization that I’m his son too, that I’m a kid who needs him as much as that kid that never finished happening was. Or is.  That I’m here in the present even though no one seems to notice.

That I’ve never realized how much I needed him until now.  Not in the way he wants me to, of course, but it’s something and I need him and no one else can help me.  I learned how to manage being dorky and small and awkward without him, but chief?  I can’t delve deep enough into my well of vague but persistent self-loathing to figure that out.  I need him to tell me.  I need someone to tell me and he’s the only one who can and I’m asking.  

It feels like begging and I hate that, I hate that I’ve ended up just as weak in front of him as I always told myself I’d never be.  

“You’re ready.”  

“Ok, but that’s not what I’m asking.”  

“You’re ready, you’ve been ready.  You’ve been helping me for months now, you haven’t made any big mistakes—”

“What are you saying?”

“I’ll write up a notice and put it—and you can put it at the great hall.  Nothing’s going to blow up in the next couple of days—”

“If you’re titling me Acting Chief, something makes me think this is more than for a couple of days.”  I flail and I feel more like him than ever, more animated and desperate and willing in a way that’s always been irritating.  ���I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know how to tell people what to do and have them do it and if it goes wrong, it’s all on me—”

“Just do what I would do.”

“That’s the whole point of me talking to you, I don’t know what you’d do.”  Because I’m not as much of him as I should be.  As I need to be.  As the village needs me to be.  

“Nothing can go wrong in just a few days,” he looks back at his notebook, “things don’t change overnight. They just don’t.”  

“What do I do about the farming?  And the woodpile—”

“I’m trusting your judgement.”  He doesn’t look at me.  He doesn’t bore an invisible ‘don’t fuck it up’ into my forehead like Mom always does. He sits there like someone who needs to be protected, like one of those who will be affected by whatever wrong thing I inevitably do.  

“Well…”  I deflate, shaking my head and looking at the door, because the village is going to feel so different when I go back out there. When.  Not if.  I decided and this drags me further into it, not backwards like I wish.  

I could leave.  But what would I be leaving?  What would it be when I come back?  

It feels like everything changes because of me, what would change because of lack of me?  I’m already seeing it, in a way, what changes when some version of me disappears.  I can’t do that to everyone again.  

“It’ll be great.”  He shrugs, “you’ll see.  I’m trusting you.”  

“That…that makes one of us.” I huff, snatching the list—my acting list off of the table and stomping back outside.  

00000

Fuse is at the woodpile. I see her first because she’s the only thing standing still, her hair glinting as she cocks her head at the side wall.  I should go talk to someone about the stack, first, but I don’t, and I don’t know if it’s what the chief would do and that makes my hands shake.  

“Hey Fuse, what’s up?” I walk up to stand next to her, “how’s it going with you?”  

“I think it’s going to cave if I take from the front.  I think I’ve got to take from the middle and work back but pillar this front corner. I think there’s a crack coming down from the point.  See?” She points up and a little to the right at a bit of ceiling that looks exactly like the rest of the ceiling, “It’ll crumble if I don’t column the corner.”  

“Then column the corner.” I shrug, “it’s about access from the new dock, right? It should be fine if the corner is a column.”

“Do you know where the chief is?  He’s the one asking me to do this.”  

“I do,” I sigh, “and he’s not going to tell you, so…so I’m just going to decree, or whatever, that as my first decision as Acting Chief, whatever that means, it’s fine if you column the corner.  Because you think it’s the way it’ll work and I trust you.”  

“Acting Chief?”  She frowns, fully looking at me for the first time since I’ve walked over, “what are you talking about?”  

“The chief is writing up a notice to make me official Acting Chief,” I laugh, feeling limp and tired and like I don’t have a chance to do anything but fail, “an ambiguous but surface level powerful title that means nothing but also everything.”  

“Wait, I’m missing something, why would he—”

“You know how my Mom was pregnant?”  I exhale through my nose, shaking my head slowly and wondering again why she’s not the one falling apart.  How she’s not the one staring at a corner.  How Aurelia and the chief are on some wavelength that I’m not for the first time since I’ve started looking for similarities.  “She’s not anymore.  The chief’s…I don’t know, staring at a wall and not deciding anything.  My Mom’s…Aurelia…”  I chew on the inside of my lip, reminding myself why being here matters more when it feels like everything would be calmer and better and newer everything else.  Because this ominous grief-adjacent feeling is too familiar to be healthy.  “It’s not the best.”  

“My gods, I’m so sorry,” she sounds more typical than Fuse ever does, more broken record polite, and I hate it.  I hate how her voice breaks and I wish she were still thinking about explosives.  I wish things were going to blow up in the next few days and I didn’t have some undefined period of thinking about what the chief would do in front of me.  “Is there—do you need a hug?”  

I laugh.  It comes out too loud and too painful, like my throat has forgotten how in the past couple of days and it has to half shred to remember.

“No one has asked me that.”  

She hugs me, arms pinning my arms to my side, chin pointy and painful into my shoulder.  Warm and smelling like black powder and squeezing tighter than she needs to.  It’s good anyway, bracing, like she trust me being tough at some level other than just talking about it.  She steps back, a little stiff and I wish she wouldn’t be, I wish she’d go back to talking about cracking rocks.  

“So Acting Chief, huh?” She nods slowly, “I can column the corner, but that means nothing is stopping reloading the bin from the other side.”  

“So I can get the bin catalog updated?”  I throw my head back, “oh my gods, that’s the best.  I can’t get going with building the dock until Sneezlet Hoarkson lets me take the wood and she’s not doing that until the roster is updated.”  

“You sound busy.”  

“The busiest.”  I sigh, “now I’ve got to get the bin filling and then I can go tell the builders down at the docks—”

“I can do that,” she offers, “I need to get some stuff to start measuring to prep the wall, anyway, it’s practically on my way—”

“You’d do that?”  I feel struck by it somehow, maybe it’s that I was just asking for help and didn’t get it and now it’s offered and it’s Fuse, so it feels easy.  It’s genuine because she’s never anything else and I don’t know how to apologize for being so thordamned needy.  “I might need another hug, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”  

She sputters, like she never does, started like I’ve never seen her, “I figured you’d had a rough day.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I’ll go talk to the people prepping the dock,” she nods, cheeks patchy like the enormity of my being Acting Chief just hit her.  Like she just realized what she offered but she’s not backing down. ��

“Thank you.”  I sigh, “now I get to tell Sneezlet how to load this up, but well, having that only be half the job is such a huge thing.  Thank you.”  

“I got it.”  She turns abruptly and walks off and that makes me laugh even though I don’t know how anything could be funny right now.  

Sneezelet fights the idea of my authority until I tell her to check the notice on the front of the great hall, the notice I haven’t seen or put up yet, but that’s enough to get her ordering people to load their dragons and get all that half green wood stacking into the half of the shelter that Fuse says won’t be affected by her blasts. It feels official, far quicker than I would have thought it could but just as heavy as I’d feared.  If this messes up, it’s my fault.  

If it messes up, I have to clean it up and that’s all on me, because I don’t think that the chief is going to be ready like he seems to think he is.  

Honestly, I don’t know how the chief ever had time to annoy me so much.  I’ve only been doing this for a few days on my own and an hour officially and I can’t remember the last time I was home before dinner or got more than half a nights’ sleep.  I don’t mind the first part of that, really, because home isn’t my favorite place right now, between the chief staring off into space and Mom being almost frantically fake happy all the time.  

And there’s the fact that Aurelia still won’t talk to me, or she’ll talk but it’s not like we used to, it’s not nice or comfortable.  It’s like she wants me to be wrong because she’d get something out of it.  It’s like every word out of Norse that she remembers, she gets further away.  

So I’m happy to be out of the house, but when what feels like the seventh frantic worried face of the day approaches me as I’m trying to get across town to check on Fuse and the progress on the new dock, I may or may not hit today’s emotionally full point and snap at them.

“What?  What do you want?”

“Sorry,” Mrs. Ericson takes a step back with wide eyes and her hands held up.  I must have sounded fiercer than I thought.  “Er, Chief?”

“I’m not the chief.” I blurt out automatically and shake my head, “but right, I’m Acting Chief, that’s why I’m so tired.  Acting Chief is fine.  What can I do for you?”

“My Winky chewed through their girth last night, the boy forgot to take the saddle off when he got home, and I was just wondering when I could drop it by the forge for you to fix.”

“I’m not actually putting in much forge time these days,” I sigh, “Smitelout Jorgenson is over there though and don’t tell her I said this, but she’s actually doing a pretty good job picking up the slack.”

“Oh, I know she’s been working with Gobber,” Mrs. Ericson hems and haws the way that Vikings don’t unless they’re talking to the chief, which is somehow me, as weird and uncomfortable as that still feels, “she fixed my dagger up last week, actually, and it’s fine, I just…well, I prefer your individual touch on the leather.”

“That’s…flattering, Mrs. Ericson, but I really don’t have time right now.”  I try to feel like I’m not being crushed under the weight of her understanding disappointment.  “I…ok, bring it by the forge and leave it with Gobber, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you!”

“It’s fine,” I lie, because it’s a pain in the ass and I don’t have time and that’s what the chief would have said but he has me to cover for him and I don’t.  “If I can’t get to it—”

“You’re trying, lad, that’s all we ask!”  

“Right.”  I wave at her and keep walking, looking down at my feet like it’ll make me less noticeable.  

I remember when I used to want to be noticed, when it used to feel like something would change if someone just saw me.  When I thought my ideas would matter and that somehow, that wouldn’t feel like a crushing weight plopped onto my chest.  

I miraculously make it down to the dock without anyone seeing me, because checking in with what Fuse offered to do seems like the biggest guarantee for some level of comparative success in this overwhelming day, but of course, everyone is yelling.

“Fall?”  Someone is yelling at Fuse, which makes me furious in a way I can’t quite comprehend right away, because I put here there, I told her I’d cover her, “we’re supposed to wait to do this with fall wood?  That doesn’t submerge right—”

“I’m just telling you what I—”

“Well, tell whoever told you that they’re a thick-skulled moron—”

“You seem perfectly capable of delivering your own insults.”  Fuse deadpans, completely unflappable as they move closer to her, shorter and angrier than she is and l move to step between them.  

He pokes her in the shoulder.  She blanches, suddenly alarmed.  

“Do you want to blow us both up?”  

“Is that a threat?”  

“Whoa there,” I step between them, facing the guy who’s causing Fuse problems.  He’s younger, but not young enough that I know him.  Small enough that the weight of the axe against my lower back makes me feel like I know the only ways this could go.  “What’s the problem?”  

“She said—” He tries to point around me at Fuse and I check his forearm with my wrist, just enough of a hit to tell him I know where my axe is and could get it just as fast.  

“I don’t care what she said.”  I step towards him, “tell your boss that you can start building as soon as Sneezlet lets you have the wood.  And don’t start fights you can’t finish.”  I look at Fuse over my shoulder and she’s red and irked in a way she rarely gets without Arvid’s purposeful prodding.  “That would have gone bad for everyone.”  

“Says who?”  He tries, but he’s faltering, and the combination of me and Fuse must mean something that I never used to because he doesn’t move towards me.  

“Says the guy who’s got Acting Chief status according to the notice on the front of the great hall. Go check.  I don’t care.”  I make a mental note to put up that notice next, before I find a place to sit down.

“How soon are we going to get the wood?”  He asks, narrowing his eyes at me, and I think I recognize him from Rolf’s dragon training graduation.  Maybe there was something in the water that whole year.  

“Soon, we’re moving into half the pile and can get it counted.”  I take a step towards him and he backs off two, “go tell your boss. Seriously.”  I hate how I sound like the chief when I aim for authoritative and I clear my throat, “and come to me next time you don’t like an order.”  I try and shrug how Ingrid does, that little shrug that makes my axe handle stick out.  “Preferably before you form that wrong opinion.”  

“Alright,” he falters, looking at Fuse one more time like he wants to say something and stopping himself, “Acting Chief.”  

“Good,” I turn away before he can pull me into more of this delightful conversation, hands sweating enough that I wipe them on my pants.  Fuse is staring at me like she’s not sure if she needs to say anything and I look at the fullest pocket of her vest, “maybe next time leave the explosions at home when I send you on such a confrontational errand.”  

“It wasn’t a confrontational errand.”  

“I didn’t think so,” I laugh, gesturing back up the path from the dock, “but maybe I should get you out of here before that changes.  What happened?”  

“I just relayed the message.”  She looks as embarrassed as she is distracted.  “He just started telling me to insult people—”

“Ok,” I stop, reaching for her elbow and pausing before I end up in the same situation, my arms falling back slack as I step off of the trail and wave her to follow me.  “Things like that don’t just happen.  I’ve made enough happen on purpose to know that it’s not necessarily easy.”  

“I didn’t do anything.” She stands in front of me, a little bored but not willing to ignore me and I hope it’s not just my almost title. Somehow, with her, I know it’s separate.

“You know, you’re one of the only people that I actually trust around here,” it comes out fast and honest and funny in a way nothing has really been lately, “but if I’m going to be Acting Chief, I’m going to need a bit of diplomacy.”  

“It’s not my fault if everyone else is so sensitive.”  She looks confused and angry about it and I sigh.  

“Everyone isn’t sensitive, we’re Vikings.  You’re just…shockingly direct and astute enough that your first hit usually gets the vulnerable place.”  

“I didn’t hit anyone.” She crosses her arms, looking bored and red and out of her element the same way she makes me feel.  “He just acted like it.”

“Oh come on, you honestly don’t know you can be…harsh?”  I want to reach for her arm again, to tap her on the shoulder.  It feels like no one else should hear what we’re saying, it feels like I want it to be a secret.  

“You don’t seem to think so.”  

I laugh at that, “that’s because I’ve already said all the meanest things to myself and you’re logical in comparison.”  

“I’m not mean to you.”

“You’re frank.”  I want to shake her even though it’s dangerous, even though it could evaporate us both and leave a crater.  I realize I might know something she doesn’t, even if it’s still new to me, even if it’s still strange.  Maybe I’ll understand it better if I say it out loud and I try to curb the urge to whisper it because that’d make it sound less sure.  “You know, sometimes, when chiefly authority is involved, you have to say things so that people will like the idea of listening to you.”  

“Why do I care if they like it?”  She hesitates though, cocking her hip slightly, arms crossed but slack like she’s thinking about leaving but isn’t quite sure yet.  

“Because someone just tried to fight you.”  

“I don’t care if people want to fight me,” she scoffs, “it’s stupid.”  

“Ok, how about I care?” I step closer, “because I like trusting you when to know when to blow things up and if people are trying to fight you, that decision is out of your hands.”  

“I can’t control what people do.”  She falters slightly, her frown cracking around the edges like she’s just realizing what just spun out of control.  “People don’t react like bombs, they don’t make sense.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to predict how people will react to things.”  

“You’re pretty good at predicting me.”  

She cocks her other hip and averts her eyes, cheeks red like she’s not used to me catching her by surprise.

“That’s because your face is obvious.”  She shrugs and almost looks defiant, almost embarrassed.  I want to fix this more than I want to check off anything.

“Yeah, maybe, I never said I was subtle.”  I step closer, trying to frame what I’m about to say in a way that I won’t have to explain more than once.  This all feels subtle.  Important. And that notice still isn’t up anywhere. “Sometimes, you have to say it so that people will like you.”  

“I just told him what you said.”  

“Ok, I get that but…ok, ok, let’s practice.”  I grab her elbows and turn us around so that she’s still facing me but my back is to the road.  I don’t realize what I’ve done until I drop her and step back, waiting for that face that means she’s scared of an unpredictable ticking.  It doesn’t happen.  She just reddens slightly, arms slack at her sides.  “Ok…pretend you have to tell me that I…hmm, that you can’t blow out a wall I need you to or like…a bunch of fish is going to spoil.  Or something.”  

“Why can’t I do it?”  

“I don’t know, make something up,” I laugh, “something is cracked or something.”  

“I’m not good at making things up.”  She looks like she just admitted some secret more horrible than any I’ve heard already, which is simultaneously hilarious and impossible.  

“It’s just me, it doesn’t have to be good.”  

“Ok.”  She shrugs and thinks for a second, two thirds of an eyebrow lowered over her right eye.  “I can’t blow up the imaginary wall because it’ll take down the imaginary hill too.” She’s completely flat, awkward in a way that’s never been so palpable, small under all those packed tight vest pockets.  

“Ok, now say it like you want me to like you.”  

She sputters again, cheeks patchy, fingertips digging into her arms.  I laugh and it’s more uncomfortable than genuine.  

“Apparently a thought a little too far from reality,” I try and shrug it off but suddenly this feels weird. Ominous.  Like I’m missing something obvious and it’s circling. “What did you actually say?”  

“What Aurelia told me to.” She sighs, “she caught me halfway over and said you’d told her that you’d miscalculated and there wouldn’t be enough wood until the whole bin was full.”  

There it is.  

“She did what?”  

“She told me that—”

“Yeah, I heard you.” I pat her almost reflexively on the shoulder and she doesn’t flinch, “I didn’t tell her to do that.  I’m going to go…I don’t know.  I don’t know what I’m doing.”  It feels like less of a confession than it does something shameful I shouldn’t saddle her with.  “I’ll…see you.  I guess.”

“Yeah.”  She pauses, mouth half open, “I…yeah.  I’ll let you know if I need anything to column that wall. Acting Chief.”  She uses the title like it means something and I hate that it does.  I don’t want to leave but I have to, because I promised I’d keep things together and even though that was only to me and the half the chief still talking, it still matters. It still has to matter.  

[neubauje]

BEGT ch. 16

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 (Rated X) - Chapter 16 AO3

By the time Eraserhead next manages to crack his eyes open, the small bedroom is flooded with light, but quiet aside from the gentle sounds of traffic outside, and the shallow breathing of the man asleep next to him, sprawled out belly-down with his face pillowed in the crook of his arm. Taking in as much information as he can without moving too much, Aizawa silently notes every detail in turn, his eyes no longer dry and sore with exhaustion as they had been the previous day. The quality of the light is bright enough to be well past sunrise, and even edging into mid-morning. The laptop remains at the foot of the bed, still open but black-screened and presumably drained dead after being left on overnight. The comforter has been haphazardly tugged up over Aizawa’s legs and lower body, with an uneven bunching up closer to where Toshinori has passed out on top of it, evidence of a last-ditch effort to make Shouta more comfortable before Yagi had given in to sleep. And it’s a little difficult to tell without kicking the blanket off to look, but it feels as though he’s been cleaned off from the mess he’d surely left behind, and tucked back into the borrowed pajama pants.

“Toshinori,” a firm hiss and a gentle nudge against his side with one knee are enough to wake the older teacher, who lifts his head and blinks blearily up at him with a little frown of confusion, “What are you doing here?” (more under the cut)

“W’s too tired t’pull out th’couch,” the sleepy blond slurs his words, “Sorry, I c’n...” He jerks softly in place, starting to drag his long limbs over the side of the mattress.

“I mean your alarm didn’t go off, are we going to be late?” Shouta glances over at the digital clock, and Yagi follows his eyes to confirm, then shakes his head and relaxes back onto the comforter.

“It’s Saturday, Shouta. We just have our conjoined afternoon class. The alarm’ll go off in an hour.” He writhes closer by a couple inches and rests his head on the unoccupied half of the pillow propping up Shouta’s right arm, nudging in until his forehead is pressed against the shorter man’s flank, with the blanket still between them. “Lil’ more sleep,” he mumbles softly, his arm tucked up between his chest and Shouta’s knee. The more alert teacher sighs and cracks a little smile at the sight, gently nudges in closer against Yagi’s head, and relaxes back into the pillows to catch a few more winks.

The class for that day is, all things considered, relatively low impact. All Might and Eraserhead tally up the scores of each team within The A-Class and declare the Green Team the winner, to nobody’s surprise. They spend the rest of the hour going over the procedure for the Sports Festival check-in and reporting location, how to secure tickets for family members, where to obtain and use their student Festival Passes, and refreshing them on the rules and regulations. They’re just passing out the packets of paperwork as the period bell rings, and the students rush to grab the forms as they pile out the door, chattering excitedly with nervous energy about the possibilities of the next day.

“Mr. Aizawa?” Asui, Izuku, and Mineta are still lingering in the classroom as the other students trickle out around them. The frog-like girl ducks into her desk, then steps forward, her hands behind her back. “We had something to give you, a thanks for... Well, for saving our lives, kero.” She glances back at the boys, who nod earnestly, encouraging her forward. Aizawa exchanges a wary glance with All Might, but tips his head at her until she approaches closer and pulls out a small parcel, holding it out to him in both palms. “We were close enough to see when they got broken, and you hadn’t replaced them yet... So we saved up together to order new ones.”

“W-we weren’t sure if anyone else had realized,” Izuku speaks up, and Mineta nods fervently, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “When you’re done healing, Mr. Aizawa, we wanted to help make sure you’d be ready.”

Acting as Eraserhead’s hands, All Might draws forward to take the parcel from Sue, and she steps back to Izuku’s side, one finger to her chin. With a gentle squeeze into the opaque plastic, All Might pinches it between thick fingers and carefully rips it open, revealing a brand new pair of custom bronze shutter-shade goggles. “Oh!” He holds them up to show Aizawa.

“My goggles?” Eraserhead tilts his head slightly, “Broken? I thought they were just in my duffel bag...” He bows his head to let All Might drape the accessory around his neck.

The taller hero does so and shakes his head with a nervous grin and a little chuckle, “No, ah... they weren’t in there. I thought you were keeping them in your desk or locker, or maybe you’d left them at home that day.” He turns back to the students and pulls them in for a brief hug, “That was some fine observation work and philanthropy, you three. Nicely done.”

Aizawa nods graciously, “Thank you. Now go get rested up, we’ve a big day tomorrow.” He jerks his chin toward the door, and the three stragglers flash a quick salute, then scuttle out in a hurry. He chuckles softly and shakes his head a little, turning back to All Might, who is starting to leak little tendrils of steam after holding his form for so long. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, the entire student body is long gone by now.”

Toshinori sighs in relief and relaxes in a billowing cloud of steam, his over-sized blue suit draping around him. “Okay. Let’s go check in with Recovery Girl.” He holds the door for Aizawa and locks it behind them both, escorting the younger teacher to the nurse’s office, where the diminutive healer is bustling about to pack several crates and boxes full of supplies for the Sports Festival the next day. “Chiyo, glad we caught you... Did you need a hand?”

“Ah, Yagi and Shouta, yes! If you don’t mind stacking these onto that cart for me?” Recovery Girl gladly makes use of the larger teacher’s help, while Shouta waits patiently on the bed, staying out of the way while he nudges his chin idly into the nose of the new goggles, getting acclimated to having their solid weight around his neck again, in addition to the scarf. He looks up as the other faculty members finish the packing, and Shuzenji approaches him with a gentle touch to his knee, calling him out of his brief trance of boredom. “And how are you feeling today, Shouta?”

He nods amicably, “I’m doing well. We had an easy class today, letting the students conserve their energy for tomorrow.”

“Good, good.” The healer stretches up on her tip-toes to give him one last kiss to the forehead, washing away the last of his bruises, sprains, and fractures. Even the scabbed-over gash on his cheek seals up beneath the bandages, leaving the scar which Toshinori had predicted. “There.” She nods decisively, “That should do it. You’re all done, as soon as you get a chance to go back to the hospital to have your casts cut off. I’d do it myself, but I don’t have the equipment handy, you understand.”

“That’s fine. I was planning to keep them on through the Festival anyhow. If I need my arms in a hurry, I’ll get Ashido to dissolve them free for me.” He stands and shoots a glance to Toshinori, who follows his lead with a step toward the door.

“Ah, hiding in plain sight again, are you?” Chiyo chuckles softly and claps the younger teacher on the back. “Hopefully that won’t be needed. But not a bad idea, just in case.” She waves farewell as the two teachers head out for the day, and follows them out with her cart of supplies, locking up for the weekend.

Toshinori goes all out on dinner that night, with the extra time allotted to them from the light Saturday schedule. A full three-course meal stretches out across the sparse countertop space, the stove burners, and the table between them, with fried, steamed, and baked dishes alike. It’s far more than the two heroes can finish in one sitting, and Yagi dutifully splits the rest into portions of varying sizes- leftovers for Shouta’s lunch during the Festival, and smaller snacks for himself throughout the day.

As Toshinori tucks Aizawa into bed for the night, he stops himself with a little chuckle, “I guess you don’t need these propped up any more, huh,” He pulls away the pillow he’d been about to tuck beneath the other teacher’s arm, and tucks it under his own instead, turning towards the door to head back out to the pull-out couch.

“Stay.” The command is somehow gentle and firm at the same time, offering kindness but no room for argument.

Yagi pauses in his tracks, turning back to meet those dark eyes, shining in the dim light of the hallway fixture. “Shouta...”

“There’s room for both of us, and that couch isn’t doing anybody any favors. Besides, I... wanted to talk more, about what you said out on the balcony.” Seeing the older hero’s hesitation, he insists with a little jerk of his chin, “Go brush your teeth or whatever, then come back here.”

Toshinori sighs and sets the pillow down at the headboard next to Aizawa, then ambles off to get ready for bed. He spends a few minutes in the bathroom, then does one last round of the apartment to make sure all the doors are locked and the lights are all out, then shuffles back into the bedroom, plugs in his phone, and sets the digital alarm for the next morning. Then, hesitating for a moment, he pulls back the covers and slides in beside his peer. “Okay,” he mumbles quietly, and there’s something slightly different about his consonants, as though his mouth isn’t entirely empty, “What... was the real reason you want me here.” He carefully rolls onto his left side to face Aizawa in the darkness, his head sloped across the pillow and his own arm, while he clutches at a fistful of the blanket in his right hand.

Shouta clumsily tries to mirror the posture, though the casts still on his arms make it a little difficult to turn any more than halfway. “I’m not on painkillers anymore,” he grumbles softly, and sure enough his head aches a little from the sudden withdrawal, “And after tomorrow, I won’t need... you. To take care of me like this, I mean. I’ll have my own arms back.”

“Mmhm,” All Might nods, tight-lipped and unusually quiet, a stark contrast to his boisterous hero persona, “Bet you’re looking forward to getting your autonomy back.”

“As a matter of principle? Of course I am. But-” Aizawa glances away, his eyes drifting downward as he shifts his right leg closer toward the middle of the bed, seeking a little contact with the man next to him. “I don’t want us to grow apart once the necessity is gone.”

Toshinori blinks at the frank honesty, and without thinking much of it, stretches his knee out to close the distance, gently hooking his heel in against the side of Shouta’s foot. “It’s not like we’ll suddenly be strangers again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Aizawa shakes his head softly, unsure whether Yagi’s night vision is acute enough to see the gesture in the dark anyway. “More than that. I am of sound mind right now, and I want ...More.” He pulls his foot in against Yagi’s a little, and realizing that he’s no longer bound by the throne of pillows, scoots in a little closer toward him.

Toshinori sighs and lets go of his grip in the blanket, extending his hand to rest against a cast, halting Shouta from getting any further in his effort to bridge the gap. “Stop. Shouta, I’m flattered by your interest, but-”

The younger teacher breaks into a soft hiss of a snarl, “Damnit Yagi, I’m not one of your All Might fangirls that you can just brush off so easily!”

“No, you’re not,” the hero insists, and his eyes are a hard shadow, even in the dim lighting, “But the dynamic is no less severe. I looked it up, after we talked, this is a classic case of Nightingale syndrome, nothing more.” He pulls his hand away, and props himself up on one elbow, adding a few inches of height as though to prove his next point, “If you’re really serious about this, about us? It needs to happen on equal footing, not when you’re still recovering from a vulnerable position like you are now.” He studies the dark, unwavering gaze of the man next to him, and sighs softly. “Look, I’m not shutting you down entirely. Just asking you to... hold that thought. Give it a few weeks. Go back to doing your pro hero work, go home, get your feet back under you, and re-establish a life balance. Let us get a little distance between us, and get to know me as a peer, rather than as your caretaker. Then... reassess, and see if you still feel the same way.” He lowers himself back down to the pillow, and reaches over to rest his hand on Eraserhead’s shoulder in a gentle grip, flashing an unusually-subdued smile in the darkness, “Let’s make a checkpoint here. Like an old-school arcade game. This way, you can go play some other games for a while, and then pick up where we left off. If you still want to.”

Yagi can’t quite make out the intricacies of Shouta’s expression that he’s learned to pick up on, but the younger hero sounds amused, “Is there a pass code?”

“Heh, if you like. How about... ‘Continue’? Say it when you want to come back to this, and if I feel we're in a good place, I'll say it back.”

“Fine.” Shouta sighs softly and bows his head a little. “Just...” He trails off, going quiet for a long moment before he shifts back to face the ceiling.

Frowning curiously, Yagi scoots in a little closer as his arm is tugged in by the shift, and he gives a gentle squeeze to Aizawa’s shoulder, “Just what?”

“You’d better still be there for me to say it.” He turns over in the other direction, facing away from Yagi as best he can until he pulls his shoulder out of the other teacher’s grasp.

Toshinori sighs and scoots in the remaining inch or two, letting his arm drape loosely over Aizawa’s waist in an attempt to comfort him, a little disappointed in himself for letting his morbid (if not realistic) sense of mortality taint Shouta’s confidence in him. “I’ll... try.” He pulls his arm in marginally tighter, keeping a reassuring grip around the smaller man until they both drift off to sleep.

Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

[turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating]

Part 11 of The Sam Diaries

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10507836/chapters/27140973

20:47: Is this Eunoia?

20:47: Yes? Who are you?

20:48: It’s Neil Josten. I was trying to get hold of Sam’s number to tell him the police got a hold of the guy at the game but I couldn’t find it.

20:49: If u managed to get a hold of my mobile number in Greece I don’t think it was the police who took him away

21:01: Why doesn’t Sam have a phone?

21:05: He broke it last week and hasn’t replaced it yet Also kinda still can’t believe I actually know u pls b nice I am too excited and tired for this conversation

21:05: How did he break it? And I don’t think I’ve ever been good at nice sorry

21:06: He dropped it on the floor Apparently me in lingerie causes him to lose all motor functions

21:07: I didn’t need the extra info

21:07: Your fault for asking. Anywho, I’ll pass on the message. Thank you again for the game tickets and congrats on how well you played

21:09: Andrew’s probably bought those game tickets ten times over in ice cream by now

21:09: That is… Maybe a little bit true. I should probably give him discounts at this point

21:10: Do not it is hard enough keeping him to his diet schedule as it is

21:10: Rodger that. 21:11: Sam just asked me what I’m laughing at He is shocked and appalled at the idea of a meal plan

21:15: Don’t ever let him meet Kevin Day. He loves meal plans more than he loves his wife

21:16: Poor wife 21:20: So apparently ur demi too? Oh Shit sorry Sam’s just told me not to mention it I just haven’t met anyone irl other than Sam Ignore it

21:30: It’s fine 21:45: So Sam’s demi and he was just born like that?

21:46: Yes?

21:47: And you’re not demi right?

21:47: Nah I’m just a boring heterosexual.

21:48: I didn’t know there was a word for it I just thought I was different

21:49: Well u r but it’s not a bad thing. And it seems to be working for u guys fine!

21:50: Yeah. Thanks Eunoia.

10:52: Neil, I need to apologise I never thought I was going to get answers as to what happened to my parents And I definitely didn’t think the answers would be btw ur parents were spies Like that’s not a reality I ever had to live in Don’t get me wrong I’m 100% ready to stab ur uncle if he ever comes near me But Sam’s convinced me I shouldn’t have taken that out on u it’s not ur fault I’m sorry

11:10: Your parents were killed to save my life. I should be the one apologising. Are you ok? Also do not attempt to stab my uncle you will be killed before you even met him

11:11: Calm down crazy. U didn’t kill them. Sam's helping me through it. It's going to take a while to rewrite them in my head. I can't believe they lied to me for so many years. It's like, did I even know them? But the best thing for me is to get back to work doing what I love. And finish up wedding decisions as well :) I figured that. My parents were the good guys tho right?

11:12: I might as well have I'm glad you've got Sam. All the members of the FBI I’ve met are pricks but they were on the right side of the law I suppose. And they got taken out because they were too good at their jobs

11:12: Pls pass Andrew ur phone

11:13: Ok… 11:14: What?

11:14: Pls get ur bf’s head out of his self-deprecating arse. Also how much ice-cream will it take to win u over? I have a lot

11:15: Unfortunately it’s been stuck there since he was born. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. Just how much of your ‘Death by Chocolate’ do you currently have stocked?

11:16: How big is ur fridge?

When Andrew had finally managed to coax a nervous and still visibly upset Neil out of the Maserati and into the shop (thankfully there didn’t seem to be any other customers in yet; Andrew had a feeling Neil would like this conversation even less in public), it’s to find Rosa deRosales behind the counter, not Eunoia. Rosa and Andrew stare at each other blankly.

“Oh yeah, Rosa, those famous Exy players I was talking about come in here all the time, I don’t really know why, but they’re pretty chill so don’t give them special treatment.” Eunoia’s voice calls from the back, getting steadily louder as she makes her way to the front. “Can you get the door for me babe?”

Rosa breaks eye-contact with Andrew to push the door to the back open and lets Eunoia, hidden behind a tower of white dopplers, into the front of the shop. She places them down on the counter carefully, having still not noticed Andrew and Neil.

Andrew takes a second to look her over. In all honesty, she looks like shit. She has bags under her eyes that speak of not just a bad night’s sleep but a truly horrific one, and she’s hobbling like she’s injured her feet in some way. Her hair, for the first time in their acquaintance, is tied back away from her face, and it makes her look serious in a way she rarely is. Her eyes are still slightly wild and more than a little haunted, but she’s calm in the way she unstacks the boxes and there’s nothing fake about her smile as she thanks Rosa.

“How long have you worked here?” Andrew says finally and Eunoia startles and looks at him in confusion.

“This is my first shift.” Rosa replies quietly, fidgeting with her apron. “I’m just helping out Eunoia while she gets some new staff, but I still fill her ‘fucked-up’ criteria.”

“You know each other?” Eunoia asks, gesturing between the two of them, giving a disapproving glance at her friend for calling herself and the other employees fucked up. Andrew shrugs.

“We were in the same foster home, but not at the same time.”

“Oh.” Eunoia says in surprise, and then she glances at Rosa and pales. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Rosa replies, and Eunoia looks vaguely sick when she looks back at Andrew. Andrew quirks an eyebrow, feeling like he’d missed something.

“I’m guessing that’s why you were barely sober over November and December in Junior High.” Eunoia says quietly, still talking to Rosa but not taking her eyes off Andrew.

“I couldn’t believe he was really dead after I’d spent all of Freshman High hiding from him at your house.” Rosa agrees, just as softly. Neil and Andrew both stiffen.

“I suppose that makes Eunoia one of the ‘good friends who got you to the hospital in time’?” Andrew manages, eventually. Eunoia shakes her head.

“We didn’t go to the same university.”

“Not that that stopped her from flying halfway around the country to visit me in hospital in the middle of her exams.” Rosa smiles, poking her friend in the side.

“Way too many fucking coincidences.” Neil says, blinking at them all. Eunoia agrees with a laugh, and if it’s a little more hard-won than it usually is, that’s to be expected. They’re going to be ok.

"At least half of those better be mine." Andrew deadpans, pointing at the dopplers, when the feeling in the room gets a little to sappy for him to stomach, and this time when Eunoia laughs there's nothing hesitant about it at all.

“Andrew.” Kevin’s never been one for conventional greetings.

“Kevin.” Andrew replies, because neither has he.

“Are you free?” Andrew assumes he means to chat, and wonders when Thea had managed to persuade Kevin to be a little less brisk and demanding on the phone. He’s not entirely sure he likes it. He stretches out on their couch, secretly pleased with the fact that he’s short enough that his whole body fits on it lengthways with some wiggle room, and closes his eyes, listening to Neil switch on the coffee machine. Neil thinks that when the coffee machine is whirring Andrew can’t hear him singing along to the radio, and Andrew sees no reason to inform him of the truth, especially when after last week’s mess with Sam and Eunoia, Andrew was worried the singing wouldn’t come back for a while.

“From Neil? Unfortunately he’s still alive and annoying as ever.”

“Of time constraints you bastard.” Now there’s the Kevin he knows and- Knows. “I thought we could get lunch.”

“You live on the other side of the country.” Andrew deadpans, intrigued despite himself.

“And now I’m in your town.” Kevin says back with his usual stoic demeanour, no hint as to why he’s travelled hundreds of miles just to take Andrew out for lunch.

“What happened? Did you finally leave Muscles to do something about your Knox boner? Come to have a gay crisis with me?” Andrew can tell Kevin’s fuming through the phone, and Andrew knows the only reason he hasn’t exploded in rage is that he’s not sure what part of Andrew’s speech he’s most upset about.

“No.” Kevin grounds out, through gritted teeth. “I’ll meet you at that Italian place Neil took us to last time. Don’t bring him.” The line clicks dead before Andrew can ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

“What the shit is going on, Day?” Andrew announces as he strides up to Kevin’s table, ignoring the waiter chasing after him about waiting to be served. Kevin flicks an apologetic look at the staff as Andrew sits across from him, who predictably all swoon over the handsome celebrity.

“I owe you.” Kevin says, uncomfortably. It’s the last thing Andrew ever expects him to say. Luckily Kevin is used to Andrew’s taciturn ways and keeps talking without being prompted. “I didn’t hold up my end of our deal.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow as Kevin clenches and unclenches his scarred hand. He doesn’t think the striker even knows he’s doing it.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Andrew says, eventually. Kevin frowns at him.

“I know it’s been ages but that doesn’t make it ok.” Kevin protests, and Andrew wants to snarl at his stupidly thick head. He hated dealing with people who didn’t understand him.

Which basically translated to he hated dealing with anyone who wasn’t Neil.

“I came up with that deal because I was desperate, and much as I meant to hold up my end of it, the way I went about it was all wrong. I built my entire life around Exy and I didn’t think for a moment that you couldn’t do the same. I knew for certain that Exy could be more to you if you just let it, and I was right, but it couldn’t be the be all end all for you.” Kevin trying to apologise is almost amusing enough for Andrew to want to continue the conversation; his face is contorted with the effort of saying the right words, and he’s still failing miserably. It’s quite possibly the first time Kevin’s tried to genuinely apologise in his life. Andrew’s fairly certain he practiced this little speech.

“You’re not listening Kevin. You don’t owe me anything.” Kevin blinks.

“I don’t understand.” Andrew rolls his eyes and looks out the window as he fidgets idly with the knife on the table in front of him. Unfortunately not sharp enough to cut the pest.

“You picked Neil.” Andrew’s hand tightens around the knife at his admission, and he watches as understanding dawns on Kevin’s face.

“Oh.”

“You’re paying for the food.” Andrew insists, not letting Kevin linger on the topic for any longer.

“We’re only here because it’s got some options with really rich carb intake.” Kevin says sternly. Andrew sometimes amuses himself thinking about Kevin’s face if he saw how loosely Andrew followed his meal plan. (And by loosely he means one night a week he eats whatever green vegetable-filled meal Neil forces down his throat, and only because Neil hates vegetables just as much and Andrew will one day capture on camera the face Neil makes around spinach.)

Andrew sends a text to Neil informing him that he’s leaving Neil for his bowl of pasta later on, and occasionally offers a comment on Kevin’s latest analysis of the upcoming season, admitting to himself quietly, with a little bloom of warmth he usually only feels around Neil, that it’s because he enjoys talking to Kevin.